


Atmospheric Pressure

by Aedemiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Demons, Ghosts, M/M, Miscarriage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2018-12-06 02:13:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 39,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11590836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aedemiel/pseuds/Aedemiel
Summary: Rowena's attack dog spell has other unintended consequences that lead Sam and Cas to re-evaluate their friendship. Afterwards a bread and butter ghost hunt turns nasty and the Winchesters have a mystery to solve...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FayTheGay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FayTheGay/gifts).



> A gift to FaytheGay, who said they wanted to see my Sastiel story. I hope you enjoy it. :-)

Cas sat at the library table, wrapped up in a blanket like an angel burrito and shivering so hard his teeth were chattering.

Sam gave him a sympathetic look. "Is there anything I can get you?" he asked. Cas shook his head. "We're working on a cure as fast as we can."

"I know," the angel rumbled. "I just need… a distraction."

"OK," Sam said. "Maybe you could do some research? I'll get you my laptop." He stood up and accidentally brushed the angel's arm as he passed. Cas let out a cry and fell to the floor. "Shit! Dean!" He kneeled down next to Cas, who was writhing around as if he were having a fit, his eyes rolled up in his head. "DEAN!"

He slid his arms under Cas's armpits, trying to avoid the angel's flailing hands and hauled him upright, the angel's head lolling alarmingly as he pulled him towards a chair. And then all of a sudden, Cas's head snapped up and he stared at Sam, a wild light in his eyes.

"Uh, Cas?" Sam said nervously. The angel didn't answer, he just thrust Sam backwards against the table. Sam yelped as the wood dug into his spine. Cas didn't stop, he lifted Sam bodily off his feet and slammed him down onto the wooden surface, which let out a loud crack. Fuck, was Cas going to beat him to death under the influence of this damn spell before Dean could hear him crying out for help? "DEAN!"

Cas pinned him to the table with his hands on his wrists and straddled him, his face close to Sam's. His expression was savage, and there was a look in his eyes Sam didn't recognize. And then he realized what it was he could feel digging into his leg and his eyes widened in shock. Cas crushed their mouths together, thrusting his tongue into Sam's mouth. The angel was hot and demanding, the kiss was a taking, not an asking. And Sam absolutely should not have been aroused. He definitely should not have been tangling his tongue with Cas's and groaning desire into the angel's mouth. Cas was tugging at his shirt and Sam gasped as the angel lifted his head and tore the garment open, buttons scattering all over the floor. He grabbed a handful of Sam's hair and yanked his head back hard to expose his neck, growling like an animal. Sam shivered with a complex mix of fear and arousal.

"Cas!" Dean's voice cracked through the haze of lust that was enveloping Sam's brain. He grabbed the angel and somehow managed to pull him off Sam. Cas collapsed onto the floor, breathing heavily.

"You OK?" Dean said to Sam. Sam nodded, not trusting himself to speak. "Cas?" The angel curled into a ball and was sobbing. "OK, Cas. Come on. You're OK." He lowered himself carefully to the floor and gripped the angel's shoulder tightly. Cas pulled away and grabbed his blanket, wrapping it around himself and rocking back and forth, making soft, keening sounds. "OK," Dean said. "I'll let you calm down." He stood up and turned to look at Sam.

"Are you OK?" he asked. "Did he hurt you?" Dean was staring at Sam and for a moment he wondered what his brother had seen when he rushed into the room.

"Yeah, I'm OK," Sam said, carefully levering himself off the table and gingerly limping towards a chair. "He slammed me into the table pretty hard, but I think I can walk it off."  
"Jesus," Dean said. "He could have killed you."

"It's not his fault," Sam said, wincing.

"Yeah. I know." There was a groan from Cas and Dean's attention returned to the angel. "I'm working on a lead on Rowena," Dean said. "Just hold on, Cas." Cas nodded mutely. "OK, I'll be back in five minutes. Don't move." Dean said and dashed out of the room.

Sam eyed Cas for a moment. The angel was staring at the floor, his mouth turned downwards.

"Cas?"

"I'm sorry, Sam," Cas said. "I'm so, so, sorry."

"It's OK," Sam told him. "I'll be fine." Cas looked up, his eyes red-rimmed and a little watery. Silence hung between them crackling with tension. He could have said something then, but then Dean walked back into the room with his computer and the moment was gone.

* * *

Sam watched from his hiding place behind a shelf in the warehouse. Cas was prowling the rows of shelving, looking for the unfortunate passer-by who'd caught his attention. A flicker of movement caught his attention to his left and he saw her, creeping towards the door where he'd entered. He turned and followed the young woman, ready to intervene if Cas reappeared. It was lucky he did, the angel appeared suddenly and grabbed the woman by the throat, cutting off her scream. Sam pounced, clapping one hand over Cas's nose and mouth and dragging him backwards. The woman yelped and scrambled away, her feet slipping in her haste to get away. But once she was gone, Cas stopped struggling and Sam felt relief flood him. The angel had regained control, thank God.

So he wasn't prepared when Cas whipped around and shoved him up against the shelves, which rocked alarmingly. The angel stared at him, the pupils wide and black, only slivers of blue remained. And then his gaze dropped to Sam's mouth and Sam shivered. This time, Cas grasped his face between his hands and brought his mouth down on Sam's, a more sensuous and giving kiss than last time. Sam groaned and let his hands drop to Cas's hips, tugging him closer. Cas growled and pressed his body insistently against Sam, deepening the kiss further. All sense and rationality had fled, the fact that Rowena or Dean could come around a corner at any moment was so far from Sam's mind that when the witch did appear, his brain couldn't process the information. His eyes flickered open at her gasp and he saw her stood there, stock still with astonishment. But then Cas lifted his head and moved his attentions to Sam's neck, biting down hard and wringing a cry from the hunter. Rowena was forgotten.

"Cas!" Sam heard vaguely from elsewhere in the warehouse. The angel lifted his head and turned in the direction of the sound. He growled and Dean stepped out from behind a shelf, Rowena in tow. Cas launched himself at Dean, and the witch sidestepped daintily.

Sam struggled to regain his equilibrium as Cas pushed Dean into a pile of boxes and then began whaling on his brother with his fists. Sam blinked and then noticed Rowena backing away. He pulled his gun and pointed at her.

" _Desiste_!" Rowena shouted and Cas paused, his face still contorted with savagery.

"Do I need to remind you these are witch-killing bullets? Finish it!" Sam snapped.

Rowena cast him a speculative look. "Yes, yes, all right.  _Adlevo onus tuum_." Cas's face went blank and he slumped to his knees. Sam could hear Dean trying to steady him but his attention was on the witch. He shouldn't have been surprised when she managed to separate herself from them with the gate. Dammit.

"I'm sure you had every intention of honoring our deal," Rowena said sweetly. "But why take chances?"

Cas leaned forward, his fingers extended towards Dean. "Dean, I can fix that," he said. Dean leaned back out of reach, wincing as he did so.

"No, no, no," he said. "No, no. It's fine, Cas. Besides, I had it comin'."

Sam rolled his eyes and exchanged a look with the angel. Dean's martyr complex could be a little hard to bear sometimes.

"Don't think I can't see you," his brother snarled. "Rolling your eyes at me. You know what I mean. This is penance."

"You're being ridiculous," Cas said suddenly. When Dean's face slid into a mulish pout, he sighed. "All right. Have it your own way."

"I will," Dean said. "I'm gonna go get some sleep." He got to his feet and shuffled off to his room.

"I wish he'd let me help him," said Cas. Sam gave him a sympathetic smile. "And you."

"Me?" Sam asked in surprise. "I'm OK."

"I attacked you," Cas said mournfully. "I…"

"Cas," Sam said, holding up one hand. "I told you, it's fine. You were under a spell." Cas nodded but continued to eye Sam uncertainly. "Was there something else?"

"I… no. No." Cas said. "As long as you've not suffered any lasting… harm."

Sam yawned, the events of the day overtaking him, and he stood. He grasped Cas's shoulder and squeezed. Cas looked up at him, his mouth a little slack and his eyes vulnerable. Sam looked at him and swallowed, the memory of the angel's mouth on his making him shiver. Cas blinked and Sam nodded at him.

"I need to get some sleep. Take care of yourself, Cas. I'll see you in the morning."

Any hopes of a good night's sleep vanished the moment he closed his eyes. All he could think about was the heat of Cas's mouth on his, the insistent press of the angel's body and the hard arousal unmistakable against his leg. The wild savagery of the first kiss in the library, the intoxicating sensuality of the second in the warehouse, whirling around his head and making his body heavy and uncomfortable with desire. And there was nothing he could do about it. Cas's horror at what he'd done was plain and Sam was sure the angel would not appreciate a discussion on the matter. Eventually, he kicked off the covers in frustration, taking himself in hand and trying to direct his thoughts to someone else, anyone else. But the only thing he could concentrate on was Cas, and so he gave in finally and let his imagination take him where it wanted to go.

* * *

Dean awoke suddenly, unsure what had disturbed him. He lay there quietly, straining his ears to hear any unusual sounds but the bunker was silent. After a few moments, he slipped out of bed and wrapped himself in his robe. He left his room and padded down the hall to the kitchen. Through the open door to the library, he could see Cas sitting at the table, his head in his hands.

"Hey, Cas," he said softly and the angel's head came up suddenly, a wild look in his eyes. Not the attack dog spell rearing it's ugly head he realized thankfully, just shock and horror.

"Dean," Cas said and his relief was evident.  _Who had he been afraid of encountering? He and Sam were the only ones here._

"How are you doing?" Dean asked. "You look… awful."

"Thanks," the angel said dryly and Dean laughed. "I did a lot of bad things under the influence of that spell, and I'm trying to process it all."

"OK," Dean said. "I get that. Believe me, after the Mark of Cain, I totally get that."

Cas nodded in agreement. "For some things, I can regret them but not be disturbed by them. But what I did to you and Sam-"

"Hold up," Dean said, raising his hands. "You beat the crap out of me, sure. But I told you, I had it coming. I nearly killed you when the Mark was controlling me."

"You know I don't agree," Cas said. "But even if I did, that hardly excuses what I did to Sam."

Dean looked at him curiously. "Sam's tough. So you punched him a few times? He'll live. And you know him, he's never been one to nurse a grudge. Hell, I've punched the kid a time or two myself, sometimes warranted. Sometimes, not so much. But he forgives, because that's who he is."

The angel regarded his hands sorrowfully. "If you say so," he said doubtfully.

"Has Sam said something," Dean asked, not sure he wanted to open this can of worms. "Did he say he was pissed? I can have a word."

"No!" Cas yelped in alarm. "No."

"OK," Dean said, feeling stupid. What the Hell was he missing here? "I guess I'm having a hard time understanding what the problem is?"

"The spell Rowena cast, it wasn't a simple attack spell," Cas said. "It induced an… animalistic state in my mind."

"Yeah," Dean agreed, rubbing his sore jaw ruefully. "I got that."

"No," Cas said shaking his head. "I'm not just talking about violence."

Dean stared at him. "Cas, what did you do to Sam?" Color flooded the angel's face and his hands began to shake. Dean eyed him in dismay. "Cas? What did you do?"

"I kissed him," Cas confessed in a low, ashamed voice. Dean just gaped at him, the shock of the angel's revelation rendering him mute. "Twice. The first time was when you pulled me off him on this table. The second time was in the warehouse."

"Uh," Dean said intelligently. "And uh, has Sam… uh. I guess he's mad?"

"I don't know," Cas said, looking up at him. "He hasn't said anything."

"What? Nothing at all?" Dean replied. "Wow."

"Which is why I'm worried," Cas agreed. "Sam's not like you, he always wants to talk things out. But he's said nothing to me. And I think he's avoiding me."

Dean scratched at his stubble. This wasn't so much a can of worms as a barrel of snakes. God damn it.

"Do you uh, want me to talk to him?" he offered, hoping the angel would say no. He wasn't disappointed.

"No," Cas said firmly. "If he doesn't want to talk about it, then I should leave it alone."

"He'll come around," Dean told him. "He always does."

* * *

Sam clicked on an interesting looking link on a Reddit forum frequented by hunters. He followed the link through to the report on the website of a local newspaper in Branson, MO. Sounded like a routine haunting, maybe they should check it out. He heard the scuff of shoes and looked up to see Dean enter the room, a mug in one hand.

"Hey," he said, "Did you make coffee?"

Dean looked down at the cup in his hand. "Uh, yeah. You want some?"

"I'll go get it, you take a look at this," Sam said, waving one hand at his computer. He got up and walked through to the kitchen. Cas was in the fridge, rifling through its contents.

"Looking for something, Cas?" Sam asked and the angel started, banging his head on a shelf and sending beer bottles flying. His hands shot out and grabbed them, carefully replacing them before replying.

"No," Cas said. "Well. Yes."

"OK," Sam said slowly, watching the angel curiously. "Anything I can help with?"

"No," Cas rumbled. "It's… fine."

Sam had no idea what had gotten into the angel. He'd have to ask Dean about it later. He grabbed a mug and poured coffee from the pot into it. He eyed Cas for a moment.

"Hey, can I just get the half-and-half?" he asked. Cas's eyes widened and then he pulled the container from the door and thrust it at Sam. He took it gingerly and poured some into his coffee then handed it back. The angel shoved the container into its place and then closed the fridge door. "OK," Sam said. "Uh. I'll talk to you later."

He walked back to the library, contemplating the angel's odd behavior. Dean was reading the news report intently.

"Hey," Sam said. "Is Cas OK?"

"What?" Dean yelped. Sam frowned at him. "Yes, he's fine. Why?"

"Uh, I dunno really. He just seems… off. Jumpy, unsettled. Is he still having side effects from Rowena's spell?"

"Not as far as I know," Dean said. "Don't worry about it. I'm sure he's OK. Now, talk to me about this case."

"OK," Sam relented. He'd have to corner Cas later. "So, this woman, Mary Hartley, passes away. She was in her late nineties, died of a stroke. So far, so not mysterious. She has only one relative, a grandson. He comes in from Chicago with his wife and their two children to sort through her belongings and decide what to sell and what to keep, before putting the house on the market. And that's when things started getting weird. I thought maybe old Mary's spirit was still hanging around. She was cremated, last week, so no body to dig up, salt and burn. But maybe there's something of her left in that house."

"Quick, easy job?" Dean said. "In and out, bread and butter kind of thing?"

"Yeah," Sam said. "I thought it might be nice, you know. Just a simple hunt, none of the complications we've had to deal with lately."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "OK, I'm in." He checked his watch. "Let's hit the road in about an hour."

Sam went back to the kitchen but Cas was no longer there. He sighed and headed to the angel's room. He could hear the faint sounds of the TV in there so he rapped lightly on the door.

"What do you want, Sam?" Cas said tersely without opening the door.

"Uh, just a chat. If you don't mind." Sam said. "We're going out on a hunt."

The door opened a crack and Cas's face appeared. "Do you want me to come with you?" he asked.

"Only if you want to," Sam replied. "It's just a salt-and-burn ghost hunt."

"No."

"OK, well-" Cas shut the door in his face. Sam blinked in surprise.

"Uh, Cas?"

The door opened again, and the angel looked stressed and pale. "Yes?"

"Are you OK? I mean, you seem… unhappy. I know you're still recovering after that spell, but I just wanted to know you're OK."

"I'm fine," Cas said robotically. He went to close the door again and Sam blocked it with his foot.

"You don't seem fine," he said. "Look, I'm not trying to get on your case. But if you want to talk, I'm here, you know." Cas's mouth turned downwards but he nodded. And then he closed the door gently with a click. Sam sighed heavily and headed to his room.

* * *

Branson was a small town, and the house in question was like many others on that block, with pale blue siding and a sand colored roof. The yard was neat but uninspired, and there was a calico cat sat on the doorstep. Dean leaned down to pet it and it hissed at him and ran away.

"Look at you, the Cat Whisperer," Sam laughed. Dean glared at him and then rang the doorbell.

The woman who answered the door was mid-thirties with straight black hair and pale skin.

"Hi," Dean said, giving her a winning smile. "Mrs Stanton? I'm Dean Young, this is my colleague Sam Johnson. We spoke on the phone."

"Oh, yes," she said. "I'm Hermione Stanton."

"Well, as I told you, we're from the Springfield News-Leader and we heard about your story from our friends at the Tri-Lakes News. We thought it deserved more attention."

"Please, come in," she said. She showed them into the house, which was clean and tidy but dated. They walked past a small formal dining room, where wallpaper had been stripped from the wall and there was a large hole in the floor. Sam pointed it out to Dean as they passed. Hermione led them into the kitchen and began making coffee.

"So, what can I tell you that wasn't in the paper?" she asked.

"Is your husband here," Sam asked her.

She shook her head. "Not right now, he's picking up some supplies at the Home Depot. We're doing some renovations before selling Nana's house."

"Yeah, I saw that," Dean said. "Trouble in the dining room?"

"Yes," Hermione said. "But I don't think the Home Depot sells what we need to fix the problem."

"Oh?" Sam said. "Why's that?"

"Because I think we need a priest," Hermione said firmly. She was clutching the small gold cross at her neck. "I think this house is haunted."

"Yes, Malcolm Andrews told us you thought there was a ghost. What sort of things have been happening?" Sam asked her.

"Oh, the usual sort of things," Hermione said. Dean exchanged a look with Sam.

"You've had experience of hauntings before?" he asked carefully.

She nodded emphatically. "My family are what you would call sensitives. Not full on mediums but we are able to detect more about the spiritual plane than the average person."

"I see," Sam said. "So, the usual things?"

"Oh, of course, how would you know what I'm talking about? Cold spots, things disappearing and turning up in odd places. This strange smell of burning. Sounds of footsteps upstairs when I'm the only one in the house. I've also heard a child's laughter and singing."

"Sounds like a haunting to me," Dean said. "Did your grandmother ever talk about there being a ghost in the house?"

"She's actually Jerry's grandmother," Hermione corrected. "But no, Nana wasn't a believer in the supernatural. She was quite dismissive of my gift, kept telling Jerry I was nuts. Since everything started, he's been nearly as bad. Nana and Granpa bought the house new, Jerry said, so how could anyone have died here? I told him construction workers died on the job all the time but he wasn't interested."

"So, other times you came here, you weren't aware of any spirit activity," Sam clarified. Hermione shook her head and began pouring coffee into cups. "No, nothing. Not that we came here often or stayed for long. I'm not the kind of granddaughter-in-law she wanted, I guess." She placed one cup in front of Dean and another in front of Sam and he noticed her hands were shaking.

"So, if you're a sensitive and you've prior experience of ghosts, why are you so scared of this one?" Sam pressed as gently as he could.

"I wasn't, at first. But then she began targeting the children," Hermione said.

"Wait," Sam said. "She?"

"I can't explain it, I just feel that the spirit is female," Hermione told him. "Anyway, she started pulling Charlotte's hair, hard enough to pull clumps of it out. And then she scratched Harvey's face, actually drew blood."

"And that's when you took the children to your sister's, back in Chicago."

"Yes. I was worried the violence would escalate."

"Fair enough," Sam said. "And they've had no more incidents since they left."

"No. Violet's even more sensitive than I am and she was on alert for anything but no, the incidents have only happened in this house." There was a sudden loud crash from upstairs and Hermione jumped to her feet. "Oh, God! What now?" She dashed out of the room and both Winchesters raced after her. Upstairs, Hermione was standing staring into a room, her mouth covered by her hands.

The room was dominated by a huge wooden sleigh bed. It looked incredibly heavy and was currently stood on one end. Sam blinked, it would have taken at least four men to move it at least.

"Well," Dean said. "I think it's safe to say no human would stack furniture like this." The temperature suddenly dropped and Sam began to shiver. He could see his breath misting in the air.

"She's coming," Hermione whispered.

There was a sensation like a cold breeze that whipped around them, tangling Sam's hair and ruffling their clothes. A horrid scratching sound made all of them wince and when it was over, Hermione pointed at the wall behind Dean. In letters about a foot tall, scratched deep into the drywall, was a single word.  _LEAVE._

* * *

"So, Mary Hartley was cremated," Dean said, frustration evident in his tone. "And we searched that place from top to bottom and found nothing."

"I wonder if this is a ghost after all," Sam mused as he stirred his coffee absently. He watched the diner waitress serve a couple of cops at the counter with slices of pie and smiled at the sweet old-fashioned feel of the place. "I'm thinking poltergeist."

"You think when the Stantons started taking the house down to studs, it got disturbed somehow?" Dean pushed away the last of his french fries and licked the salt from his fingers. "OK, maybe. Why not."

"I'll hit up the local library for back issues of the Tri-Lakes News," Sam said. "Maybe there's been trouble in the house before. Something Mrs Hartley didn't tell her grandson or his wife about."

"OK," Dean agreed. "I'll grab some ingredients for the purification ritual. Let's meet back here in a couple of hours.

* * *

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He'd spent the past two hours going through old copies of the Tri-Lakes News on microfiche at the local library and had nothing to show for it but a headache. Whatever had started this poltergeist off, there was no history associated with the house.

His phone buzzed and he answered it, receiving a glare from the librarian. He gave the older man an apologetic smile and headed for the door.

"Sam," Cas rumbled in his ear.

Sam swallowed and took a deep breath. "Uh, Cas, yeah. What's up?"

"How is the hunt going?" the angel asked.

"OK," Sam replied, wondering why Cas had called. Surely he wasn't checking up on them on a simple hunt? "We think it's a poltergeist, although we can't figure out what started it. But we know what to do."

"Of course," Cas said. There was an uncomfortable silence that stretched out between them.

"Cas? Was there something else you wanted?" Sam asked.

"Yes. No. I…" the angel seemed at a loss and Sam considered his next words carefully.

"Cas, if you want to talk, we can. Dean and I should be done with this case tonight and then we'll be heading home."

"That's not necessary," Cas said. "I mean… It's fine. I'll see you when you return." He hung up and Sam sighed in vexation. Despite the fact Cas was determined not to address what had happened between them while he was ensorcelled, it continued to loom large in the angel's consciousness it seemed. And if Sam was honest with himself, he couldn't let it lie either. It really would be better if they talked it out. Once they got back to the bunker, Sam decided he was going to have to try and convince Cas to open up to him.

He saw Dean standing by the Impala, talking on his phone. He walked up and Dean's face went curiously blank.

"Yeah, totally," he said. "Right. Well, Sam's here. I gotta go. What? No, no. I'll talk to you later, man." He hung up and nodded to Sam. "Any luck?"

"Nothing. As far as I can tell, the house doesn't have a history. Literally nothing interesting has ever happened there. The only death not of natural causes that has ever happened on the entire street was a woman who was killed by a falling tree back in 2003."

"Well, we've got everything we need. I picked up angelica root and Van Van oil at the Hoodoo store over by the Walmart. There's crossroads dirt in the trunk already." Dean opened his door. "We've got about an hour until sunset. Let's get this done."

* * *

Sam hefted the sledgehammer over his shoulder and swung it at the wall. It made a satisfying thunk as it opened a hole in the wall and Sam placed the container he and Dean had made. There was a terrible shrieking sound and Sam's instincts made him duck instinctively. It was lucky his reflexes were so well honed, for the screwdriver that had been flung across the room buried itself to the hilt into the drywall. Sam let out an explosive breath. He needed to move quickly now.

The next corner was the north. He tapped the wall experimentally with his fist and frowned at the solidity of the wall. This was not going to be as easy to knock a hole in as the east wall. He listened out for Dean, who should have finished the south wall and started on the west but the house was eerily quiet. And then there was a huge crashing sound that echoed off the walls.

"Dean?" he called. There was silence. "Dean!"

Nothing. He regarded the sledgehammer solemnly as he considered what to do. He decided it would be better to continue and then investigate once he was done. He swung the heavy implement and swore as it bounced off the wall leaving barely a dent. His shoulder throbbed in protest at force that reverberated up from the handle.

"Great," Sam muttered.

"Great," a voice said behind him. It sounded like a young girl. He spun around and stared at her. She appeared to be six or seven years old, with dark skin, deep brown eyes and her hair in pigtails with pink beads and ribbons at the ends. Her dress was also pink and quite long, almost to her ankles. She carried a rather ragged teddy bear, who had a spotted handkerchief tied over one eye and a sheriff's star pinned to his chest in one hand.

"Uh, hi," Sam said, giving her a smile.

"Uh, hi," she repeated.

"What's your name?" he asked. Was she a ghost? She seemed very substantial. "I'm Sam."

She frowned at that. "No," she said. "That's wrong." He blinked. " _I'm_  Sam."

"Oh," he said stupidly. "That's OK. We have the same name. That happens sometimes. My full name is Samuel, but everyone just calls me Sam. Maybe your name is Samantha?"

She regarded him warily, her eyes large and intent. "No. My name is Samuel."

"That's quite unusual, for a girl," Sam said carefully. "So what are you doing here, Sam?"

"Looking for ghosts," she said matter of factly. "Dean and I are ghost hunters."

Sam almost choked. "Dean?"

She held up the bear for his inspection. "This is Dean."

"Wow," Sam said, feeling really weird. "You know, it's funny. My brother is called Dean too. I don't suppose you've seen him?"

"No, silly," the little girl informed him. "He's long gone."

Cold sweat crept down his spine. "I see. Do you know where?"

She smiled at him and he wondered why he hadn't noticed how sharp her teeth were before. "To Coventry."

Sam had no idea what that meant. He had some vague memory that there might be a city in England called Coventry, but since it seemed unlikely Dean would have gone there, at least willingly, he was at a loss.

"I see," he lied.

"I don't think you do," the little girl said menacingly. And then she gave him a sweet smile. "But you will." Sam rubbed his eyes as she seemed to fade in front of him until he could see through her to the opposite wall. And then she was completely gone.

He abandoned his task and headed off to the south wall to see if he could find his brother. But when he got there to see the sledgehammer leaning against the wall and the containers of purification ingredients sitting waiting to be placed, he cursed.

"Dean?" There was no reply. "Dean!"

"Sam?" Dean voice was weak as though he were very far away.  
"Dean, where are you?"

"I dunno. It's dark. Like, inside of a whale dark. The floor's made of dirt. Maybe a basement?"

Sam pulled the house floor plans from his pocket in consternation. He didn't remember the house having a basement. He pored over them, looking for anything that might match what Dean described.

"Sam?"

"I'm looking, hold on. Actually, keep talking, it might help me find you." Sam turned on his flashlight and began scanning the walls for any sign of a hidden door.

"Uh, Maybe not a basement. It's too small. More like… a crawlspace."

Sam turned the flashlight back on the plans, scanning until he found what he was looking for. "OK, I think I know where you are! Stay put."

"I'm not going anywhere," Dean said snarkily.

Sam grabbed the sledgehammer and headed for the kitchen where, according to the plans, there was an unusually large gap between the inner wall and the outer wall although no closet or other reason for such a large discrepancy was marked. The little girl was waiting for him and she looked mad.

"I can't let you do this, Sam," she said. "I told you. He's gone to Coventry."

"He's my brother," Sam replied. "I have to help him. It's what family does." The girl looked puzzled.

"Not my family," she said.

"Well, I'm sorry to hear that," Sam said desperately. "Sometimes families go wrong, I guess."

"Sam! SAM!" Sam could hear Dean scrabbling in the wall. He didn't know what this little girl was, only that she wasn't human. So he had no idea if he could hurt her.

"Families go wrong," little Sam repeated. "Families go wrong…"

"Please," Sam begged. "Please let me save my brother."

"Families go wrong!" she exclaimed.

"SAM! There's… there's a little kid in here."

"Is her name Sam?" Sam called out.

"She's been dead a long time, Sam. I don't think she's answering any questions." Dean sounded heartbroken and slightly terrified all at once. The little girl was grinning at him.

"I'll make a deal with you," she said. "I'll let you help your Dean. In return, you have to give me something."  
"OK," Sam said slowly. "What do you want?"

She put on a show of thinking, placing one finger against her chin and looking thoughtful but Sam was pretty sure she already knew what she was going to ask for. "This house."

"It's not mine," Sam told her. "I can't give it to you."

"Say bye bye to your brother then," she sang.

"No! Wait. Look, I'll talk to the owners, OK? Maybe if I convince them not to sell the house. Would that be enough?"

She tilted her head to the side. "Nobody lives here?"

"Nobody except you," Sam promised.

"Deal!" she exclaimed, holding out her hand. Sam took it cautiously and shook it, yelping with pain when he felt something sharp cut at his palm. He looked down in astonishment to see a small incision and the little girl's hand covered in his blood.

"Great," he muttered. She skipped out of the way as he hefted the sledgehammer and approached the wall. "Dean, I'm coming to get you. Uh, can you bang on the wall so I don't take your head off?"

"Yeah, all right." There was a series of knocks and Sam pinpointed a good spot then swung the hammer and watched as plaster and wood crunched as a hole about the size of a football formed in the wall. He shone his flashlight in and was rewarded with the sight of Dean's face, dusty and smeared with blood on his forehead.

"You OK?"

"Yeah, just get me out of here, willya?" Dean grumbled.

Sam widened the hole until it was broad enough to accommodate Dean's shoulders and then helped his brother wiggle out of the space.

"You said you found a dead body," Sam said.

"Bones, really," Dean said. "In the corner."

Sam gritted his teeth, they'd have to come out so they could salt and burn them. Just in case they were little Sam's.

"You're not going in there?" Dean said.

"No, I was gonna knock another hole in the wall," Sam said.  
"Oh. Good idea." Sam's sledgehammer was lying on the floor where he'd left it. "I'll help."

They spent a few minutes figuring out where to strike and then opened up a hole as close to where Dean said the bones were as they could. Looking through the hole at the pile of tiny bones and tattered faded pink fabric made Sam's eyes prickle alarmingly.

"Oh no, naughty Sam!" came little Sam's voice and he was blindsided by a kick to the head.

"Aagh!" He tried to turn his head to where he could hear Dean cock his salt-filled shotgun and fire off both barrels.

"Sam, the bones!"

"OK," Sam said, wincing at the pain in his head. "I'm getting them." He gathered them up and pulled them out before dragging himself upright and staggering towards the back door. He screamed in agony as a slicing pain in his right leg caused him to stumble and drop to his knees.

Dean's shotgun roared again and Sam crawled to the back door and managed to lever it open, pulling himself outside and dumping the bones onto the concrete. Dean stepped over him and doused the bones with salt and lighter fluid and then tossed in a book of matches. The scream as the bones lit up chilled Sam to the bone.

"Lemme take a look at that leg," Dean said.

Sam felt dizzy and nauseated. "OK. And then my head?"

Dean looked puzzled. "What?"

"My… head…" Everything was spinning and then it went black.


	2. Chapter 2

The entire world seemed to be about pain. Pain in his head. Pain in his leg. Just a constant throb of agony. Sam wanted to throw up. He made a pathetic moaning sound.

"Sam?"

"Dean, what happened?"

"You're OK. Hurt, but OK. Cas is on his way." Sam could hear his brother moving around.

"Cas? Not hospital?"

"Better not," Dean said. "No way we can explain the bite on your leg or the imprint of a child's shoe on your face."

"Jesus," Sam said. "How bad is it?"

"The leg wound's nasty. She actually took a chunk outta you. And you've got a concussion from where the bitch kicked you in the head."

Sam clearly heard the sound of a whiskey bottle being opened. He opened his eyes to see the dimly lit interior of a motel room. His jeans had been cut open to the knee on his right leg. There was a strange halo around the lamp light. He wished Cas would get here soon.

"Did you dress it?" Sam mumbled. "My leg?"

"Yep," Dean said, sounding proud of himself. "Cleaned that sucker out with some good old JD, and packed it with gauze. It'll do until Cas gets his butt here."

"Cleaned it with JD?" Sam slurred. "Jesus, Dean."

"It's a waste, I know," his brother said mournfully. "But it was all we had and I didn't want to leave you alone."

"What happened to the rubbing alcohol we normally keep in the trunk?"

"That? I think I drank it," Dean said, unconcerned.

"Dean, you can't drink that. You'll go blind!" Sam's head was spinning and he really did want to vomit.

"Will not. I was joking. We used it up and never got more." Dean sounded strange, like he was underwater. Oh, God, where was Cas?

"Trash can."

"What?"

"Trash can!"

"Oh, right." Sam felt the plastic of the cheap motel room garbage can pressed against his hand and he maneuvered it under his face and vomited noisily into it. And then he lay back and closed his eyes.

"Shit, Sammy. That spirit really did a number on you."

There was a knock at the door and Sam heard the bedsprings creak as Dean got up to answer it. "Cas, thank God. Sam's in rough shape."

"I know," Cas said, sounding stressed. He felt the bed dip as Cas sat on the edge and his fingers began examining the wound on his leg. "Dean, this wound is infected."

"What do you mean, infected? I cleaned it. With alcohol." Dean said, sounding affronted.

"What kind of alcohol?" Sam could hear the exasperation in the angel's voice. "Whiskey? Dean, that's not appropriate."

"Who says it's not? Anyway, how can it be infected so quickly? It's only been a few hours."

"When did you get a degree in microbiology?" Sam muttered.

"It's not natural," Cas told him. "It's from the spirit that bit you."

"Shit." Sam could only agree with Dean's assessment.

"Indeed," the angel said. "Dean, I need you to get me some things. Jasmine, sandalwood, kewda, mogra, vetiver."

"I've got most of those in the car," Dean said. "Except sandalwood. Where the hell am I going to get sandalwood at this time of night?"

"Improvise," Cas said firmly. Sam heard the door open and close.

"Cas?" Sam said weakly. The angel moved up the bed and began examining his head. "Cas, how bad is it?"

"Not too bad," the angel said. "As long as we purify you tonight, everything will be fine. I promise." His fingers carded through Sam's hair and he closed his eyes. "Did this spirit kick you in the head?"

"Yeah, she was… solid. It was weird, I've never met such a corporeal spirit before." Sam winced as Cas poked at the bruise on his face.

"OK, well, I can heal this at least," Cas said. "I have to leave your leg wound open until we cleanse it." His fingers stroked across Sam's skin and he could feel the touch of the angel's Grace flow through him and he shuddered with the sensation. Even when in pain, even feeling sick and concussed and awful, the healing always felt almost euphorically pleasurable. He couldn't hold back his moan.

"What did you mean?" Sam said. "When Dean said I was in rough shape, you said, 'I know.'"

"You were calling out to me," Cas said. "Praying to me. I could hear you."

"Oh. Oh, I… didn't realize that still worked." Sam wondered why he thought it wouldn't. Even though he'd finished healing Sam's head wound, the angel's hands were still on his face. He opened his eyes and looked at Cas, seeing that same strange halo effect he saw with the lamp.

"Huh."

"What's wrong?"

"I get this weird… halo around the lamp. And around you. But I thought you healed my concussion." Sam felt like he might throw up again. "And I think I'm gonna be sick again."

The trash can was presented and he vomited again.

"It's the spirit infection," Cas said. Sam did feel really hot he realized, his skin beading with sweat. "You're feverish."

"I… yeah. I think…" Sam's brain was rapidly turning to mush. He grabbed Cas's wrist and rubbed his heated face against the angel's cool skin. "Oh, oh, you feel… nice."

Cas snatched his hand away and Sam twitched. "Sam, I… It's OK. I'm sorry. Dean will be back soon. Try and rest."

"Water?"

"Of course." Cas leaned forward and grabbed a bottle of water from the nightstand. "Here." He held Sam's head and carefully let him sip at the water. "Better?"  
"Yeah." Sam let himself drift. "Yeah. Now you're here." He heard the angel cough uncomfortably. "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Cas said. "Now, sleep."

* * *

 

When Sam awoke, it was to an empty motel room. He sat up slowly but was glad to see his leg was fully healed and his head was clear. Dean's boots and jacket were gone, so his brother had probably gone out to get breakfast. Sam was famished. His hair hung lank and stringy in his eyes and he grimaced. Maybe he could take a shower while he waited for Dean to get back.

Sure enough, he heard the motel room door while he was rinsing his hair. "Dean, that you? Please tell me you brought food."

"It's me," Cas rumbled. "And yes, I have coffee and… some kind of pastry with an obscene shape."

Sam couldn't help but laugh. Cas had some weird ideas about food sometimes.

"OK, gimme a moment. I'll be right out." He turned off the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist and another around his head. He opened the bathroom door to see Cas standing holding a coffee cup and a paper bag. The angel's eyes widened at the sight of Sam's bare chest and the towel that was barely clinging to his hips. He shoved Sam's breakfast into his hands and practically ran out of the room. Sam frowned in confusion. What the Hell was that all about? Cas had seen him partially dressed before. He peered into the paper bag to see what Sam believed was called a cruffin. Why Cas thought that was obscene, he had no idea. Shaking his head over the angel's weird behavior, he pulled on some shorts and a t-shirt and then sat down to eat.

By the time he'd finished the cruffin, Dean had returned. "How are you feeling?"

"OK," Sam said. "Pretty good, actually. Where were you?"

"Doing a little cleanup on aisle four." At Sam's puzzled look, he added. "We left a bit of a mess at the house last night. Your blood everywhere, burned remains in the yard. Plus the sledgehammers and one of the shotguns."

"Oh, right. Thanks. I'd have come and helped, you know. I'm fine now. I guess Cas healed my leg last night?"

"Yeah, you were pretty out of it," Dean said. "Kept mumbling all kinds of nonsense."

"Great," Sam said, deadpan.

"Are you ready to hit the road?" Dean looked him up and down.

"Yes, let me brush my teeth and put my pants on and I'll be good to go." Sam stopped. He hadn't packed a spare pair of jeans. "Oh."

"Cas is getting you some pants, don't worry," Dean said.

Sam stared at him. "You sent Cas out to buy me clothes?"

"Yeah?" Dean said. "So?"

"Nothing. Just seems… weird." Sam headed back into the bathroom.

* * *

 

Somehow Cas had managed to find a pair of jeans in Sam's size.

"Nice job," Sam told him. "Dean never manages to get my leg length right."

"I'm quite familiar with the proportions of your body," Cas said. His face went pink. "I mean, from healing you."

Sam grinned at him. "I figured." The angel relaxed marginally. "Look, Cas, is everything OK with you? You've been kinda jumpy recently."

"I'm fine," Cas insisted. And then he gave Sam a shy smile. "But thank you for asking." He was searching Sam's face and he wondered what the angel was looking for. "Sam… Are you OK?"

"Yeah," Sam said. "My leg's good, my head's good. You healed me up perfectly."

"No, I… I mean…" Cas looked frustrated, like he couldn't find the words to express himself. "I mean from… what I did to you."

Sam felt a prickle of alarm. "No lasting damage," he said cautiously.

"You're not… mad?"

"Mad? You were enchanted, it wasn't your fault." Sam squeezed the angel's shoulder. "Don't worry about it. I know it wasn't you, it was the spell." Cas nodded but looked uncertain and Sam's heart beat a little faster. "Cas? Is there something you want to tell me?"

"No," the angel said breathlessly. "No. Nothing. I… I just wanted to be sure."

"All right," Sam said. "But if you're having after effects, like I dunno, flashbacks or something, let me know, OK? I don't know if angels can get PTSD but don't suffer in silence. Please."

Cas gave him a wobbly smile. "OK."

* * *

 

"So, what are the Stantons going to do about the house?" Sam asked as Dean pulled out of the motel parking lot.

"Sell it," Dean said. "I think they've given up on the renovations."

"I hope we really did clear out that spirit then," Sam remarked. "That little girl took a blood oath from me."

Dean's head swiveled round. "She did what?"

"When I was trying to convince her to let me come help you, she wanted me to give her the house in return. I told her I'd convince the owners not to sell, that she could live there by herself." Sam looked down at his palm but there was no sign of the cut she'd made. Cas's healing had seen to that.

"Well, she's gone now, so I wouldn't worry about it," Dean replied.

"How did you end up in that crawlspace anyway?"

"I don't know," Dean said, sounding disturbed. "I think I must have fell through a hole in the floor upstairs. I was up there and then the next thing I knew it was all black and there was a lump on the back of my head."

"I guess that makes sense. That crawlspace was strange, don't you think. Why was it there?" Sam wondered.

"I think it was a closet originally. Until someone killed that kid and then closed it up." Dean shook his head. "She must have been there a long time."

"The work on the house must have disturbed her," Sam said. "I still can't get over how solid she was."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "To actually draw blood with her teeth, that was weird."

"Is Cas going to meet us back at the bunker?" Sam said suddenly. Dean gave him a sidelong glance that made Sam nervous.

"He said he was," Dean said. "Why?"

"Oh, no reason," Sam said.

Something about the case they'd just worked was bugging him, and it wasn't until they were almost home that it struck Sam what it was.

"How long did you say you thought those bones had been there?"

"I didn't," Dean said. "But I'd say at least fifty years."

"Which means, based on the construction, that the body was almost as old as the house," Sam said. "Mrs Hartley and her husband bought the house when it was new, so if nobody had ever lived there before, was that little girl theirs? One of their kids friends?"

"Huh," Dean said. "Does it matter?"

"Well, it was a very strange ghost," Sam said. "A lot of power and rage built up there. I wonder why it never found an outlet until Mrs Hartley died."

"I don't know," Dean said. "It's gone. Why keep worrying at it?"

"You know me," Sam said with a crooked smile. "I like the lore and research part of the job."

"Tell you what," Dean replied. "Why don't you call Clare King when we get back. She knows more about ghosts than anyone else we know."

"I didn't know she was still hunting," Sam said in surprise. "She must be in her seventies by now."

"She retired about five years ago," Dean told him. "She busted her hip when a poltergeist threw her down some stairs. But she's still on the outskirts, you know."

"OK," Sam agreed. "I'll call her. Maybe she'll have some insight."

* * *

 

"Hi, is this Clare King? It's Sam Winchester."

"Sam! It's good to hear your voice. That no-good brother of yours still causing trouble?" Clare King's voice was not as strong as it had once been but it was clear her mind was as sharp as ever.

"What do you think?" Sam said, laughing. "How are you doing?"

"Oh, not so bad. Retirement's been quiet, but I've got the store to keep me busy. Although I sell more crystals to hippies than hunter supplies these days. You heard that Nelson bought the farm?"

"Yeah," Sam said. "I was sorry about that."

"Bah," Clare said. "Stupid old goat. Shoulda retired and helped me out with the shop." Her voice was gruff but Sam remembered that the two of them had been close friends. "Well, you didn't call me to reminisce about old hunters. What can I do for you, Sam?"

"It might be nothing," Sam warned. "But Dean and I did a ghost hunt a few days ago. We thought it would be a simple salt and burn. When we got there it seemed more like a poltergeist, you know. Rearranged furniture, threatening messages on the walls. And there had been children in the house when the trouble started although they weren't teens."

"Well, the line between troubled spirit and poltergeist is not a clear one," Clare said.

"Sure, but that's not the really strange part. I did meet the spirit, manifested as a little girl. She was unbelievably solid, and powerful too. Kicked me in the head hard enough to give me a concussion and bit my leg hard enough to draw blood. Not to mention infect the wound." Clare was silent. Sam could hear her breathing raggedly. "You still there?"

"I'm here."

"OK, so we found some bones in a boarded up closet, salted and burned them and that's the end of it. We think the child died around fifty or so years ago. What's strange is not only how powerful she was but that the trouble only started when the original owner died."

"That is strange," Clare said, sounding disturbed. "You're sure there was no evidence of haunting when the owner was still alive?"

"Well, no," Sam admitted. "But according to her daughter-in-law, she didn't believe in ghosts. The daughter-in-law claimed to be a sensitive, by the way. She certainly knew the signs of a haunting."

"Interesting," Clare said. "I wonder how sensitive she is? Someone with a high enough level of psychic ability, even untrained, could disturb a spirit. Was she spending time in the house?"

"Yes, she and her husband were renovating it to sell. The spirit started attacking her kids so she sent them to stay with her sister."

"I think that's your answer to what disturbed the spirit," Clare said. "The next question is, why was she so powerful, if she'd been dormant for a long time?"

"Right," Sam said, turning over Clare's words in his mind. "A spirit that's been around a long time can be quite angry of course, but I don't know, she was quite calm at times. We had a conversation, an odd conversation but logical. From a certain point of view."

"What does that mean?"

"Well, she claimed her name was Sam, but not short for Samantha, short for Samuel. And she had a teddy bear she called Dean and she claimed to be a ghost hunter."

"You think she pulled that information from your mind?"

"I can't think of another explanation. Samuel is a pretty weird name for a girl, and with the other things she said, yeah, I think she must have." Sam frowned to himself as Clare blew out a breath and it caused the line to crackle.

"Telepathy is not a typical ghost ability," she said finally.

"I know," Sam said. "But I can't come up with anything else."

"You said you laid the spirit to rest," Clare pressed.

"As far as we know. We found her bones in an old, closed-up closet, we salted and burned them and we've not heard about any more problems." Sam sighed at the tragedy of a little girl, left to rot unknown in that house.

"And you're certain it wasn't summoned?"

"No, not certain. But it doesn't seem likely. Mrs Stanton's kids were too young to have done so themselves and while she might be a sensitive, she didn't strike me as the type to go fooling around. The bones were there, after all. I wish I knew how they got there."

"Some things have to remain a mystery," Clare said sagely. "If the problem's resolved, then maybe just put it down to experience."

"Yeah," Sam said. "I dunno, something just bugs me about the whole thing. Like I'm missing something."

"Like what?" Clare sounded skeptical.

"I wish I knew," Sam said.

* * *

 

Dean was chopping an onion in the kitchen when Sam entered.

"You're cooking tonight?" he asked happily.

"Yeah," Dean replied. "I thought it might be nice."

"Cool," Sam said. "Need any help?"

"Not right now. Maybe later. Did you see Cas?"

"No, where is he?" Sam tried to sound casual, and failed miserably. Dean didn't seem to notice.

"Library," his brother told him. "He's as wound up about that ghost as you are. You should compare notes." Dean gave him a look Sam couldn't interpret. Weirded out, Sam nodded and wandered off in search of the angel.

As Dean had said, Cas was in the library, surrounded by books. Sam's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"Wow," he said. "Dean wasn't kidding."

Cas started and his eyes flew up to meet Sam's, the pupils wide. "Sam, I… the ghost you encountered. Something about it was bothering me."

"Me too," Sam told him. "I spoke to Clare King about it, she agreed with me that the girl probably scooped details of my life out of my head and incorporated them into her self-image."

"But ghosts aren't normally telepathic," Cas objected.

"I know, Clare said that too. We've never met one with the ability before." Sam's face twisted as he thought. "What would happen if someone with a strong telepathic ability died, perhaps suddenly? Might their ghost also have the ability?"

"I don't know," Cas said. "I've never heard of such a thing but I'm not sure anyone's ever studied it."

"So what have you got here?" Sam gestured at the books surrounding the angel.

"A Guide to Ghosts, Spirits and Specters, by Francene Julius. The Afterlife, by Leith Seward. The Encyclopedia of the Spirit World, by Zachary Dixon. And some journals by some members of this chapter of the Men of Letters." Cas pointed to each book as he listed them.

"So what have you found?"

"Nothing, so far," the angel said glumly. "None of these books or accounts talk about a telepathic ghost."

"Maybe I'm wrong," Sam offered. "Maybe she just overheard us talking and constructed her narrative from that."

"Perhaps," Cas said. "But she knew your name was Samuel, and nobody actually calls you that."

"Other than Rowena," Sam said ruefully. Cas flinched at the witch's name. "Maybe she just guessed. I don't know. But…"

"Was there something else?"

"She kept saying Dean had gone to Coventry. I looked it up, it's a city in England. Got bombed a lot during World War Two. But at the bottom of the Wikipedia page, there was a link to another page about a saying. Apparently, Brits say they've sent someone to Coventry if they're ostracizing that person."

"And you think this is related to this girl?"

"Well, what if being locked in a closet was a punishment. And what if her parents called it being sent to Coventry. But something goes wrong and she dies. So they board up the closet and… I don't know, make up some excuse about where she went. It's a bit shaky as a theory, and we don't have enough information to make enquiries about missing kids in the sixties."

"What about the Stantons? Might they know?" Cas suggested.

"What, just call them up and ask 'Do you think your grandparents might have accidentally killed a little girl?' Probably not gonna make us too popular," Sam said. The angel nodded solemnly. "I think it's a dead end, Cas. As odd as it was, I can't see us figuring it out. Clare said we should just put it down to experience. Maybe she's right."

"Perhaps," Cas said, although he didn't sound convinced. "I'd like to keep pursuing, unless you object."

"No, I don't mind," Sam said. "Until we get a lead on Amara."

Cas looked guilty. "You think I should be working on that instead?"

"What? No. We've got all the feelers out we can. If she's gone to ground, there's not much we can do. If your instinct tells you to keep looking into this, then do it." Sam patted Cas on the back and the angel's hand reached up and grabbed his. He tilted his head back to look at Sam and the hunter gulped at that expanse of pale skin that Cas almost seemed to be offering to him. Cas squeezed his hand and he met his gaze.

"Cas?"

"Thank you," the angel whispered. Sam gave him a puzzled look. "For trusting me. You have every reason not to, and yet you still do. It's precious to me, that trust."

Sam wondered what would happen if he were to lean down and press his mouth to Cas's. He unconsciously wet his lips with the tip of his tongue and the angel's pupils blew wide. In another human, he would instantly register that as a clear sign of attraction. But with Cas, you never knew if his vessel's reactions truly matched the angel's emotional state. He took a deep breath and stepped back.

"Cas, I think we need to talk," Sam said, sighing. The angel looked like he wanted to escape, although he didn't actually move.

"What did you want to talk about?" Cas said. Sam raised an eyebrow at him and he colored. "Ah."

"I wasn't going to bring it up," Sam said. "I was going to leave it alone. But I… I can't stop thinking about it."

Cas looked down at the floor. "Neither can I."

"And I feel like it's bothering you. So, we talk. We work it out. OK?"

Cas was silent, and for a moment Sam worried that he'd overplayed his hand. "You're right."

"Right. Uh. OK. Do you want me to start?" The angel nodded. "Well, I know I already said this but… yeah, I can't stop thinking about it. Remembering how it felt. How I felt. Whenever you walk into a room, it's hard to concentrate on anything else." Sam paused at the look on Cas's face.

"I had no idea you were so traumatized," Cas said sorrowfully.

Sam blinked in surprise. "Traumatized?"

"Yes. Unwelcome replaying of unpleasant memories is common in human psychological trauma. As you are probably more aware than most."

"No, Cas," Sam said. "That's not what I mean. I'm not obsessing over these memories because of trauma. I'm obsessing over them because…" Sam inhaled, wracked with nerves. "Because I want to know what would have happened if it had gone further. I want to know if any of that was you or if it was all just the spell." He swallowed, covering his mouth with his hand as if to stop himself from speaking. He wasn't brave enough to look at Cas in that moment.

"Sam," Cas rumbled. When Sam didn't look up or speak, the angel stood up and faced him, touching him lightly on the arm. "Sam."

It seemed Cas wasn't going to speak further until Sam met his gaze. So he gathered his courage and raised his head. The angel's face was pale and his hands were trembling.

"Sam, what I did to you was an appalling breach of your trust and your friendship," Cas's voice cracked alarmingly. He exhaled through his nose and thrust a hand into his hair and seemed distressed, which wasn't at all what Sam wanted. After a long moment that seemed to drag interminably, he said, "I can answer the first question."

Sam jerked in surprise. That wasn't exactly the response he had expected. "OK."

"If Dean had not intervened, I would have  _stripped_ you and  _had sex_  with you, with or  _without_ your consent, right here on this table." The angel's voice was low and angry as he slammed his hand down hard on the table top. Sam's mouth went dry. It wasn't supposed to be arousing. It wasn't supposed to be something he wanted. He knew Cas was trying to impress upon him that what had happened here in the library was an assault, and that he should not interpret it any other way. He wondered what was wrong with him that Cas talking like this was making his body shiver and twitch with suppressed desire.

"And the second question?" Sam closed his eyes briefly, afraid of what the answer might be.

"Angels are supposed to be above human emotions," Cas said tightly. Sam was crushed. Cas had been trying to let him down gently but he had just kept pushing. "As you are quite aware, it is something I have have struggled with ever since I met you both. You and Dean have taught me so many things. But human sexuality is something that continues to elude me."

Well that was that. Sam felt stupid and uncomfortable and desperately wished he had kept his mouth shut, but at least he knew where he stood.

"I understand," he said through lips so stiff he could barely speak.

Cas canted an eyebrow at him. "I'm not sure you do."

"No, really. It's OK. I… I just feel a bit…" Sam was aware he was rambling and shut his mouth. "I'll let you get on with your research." He backed out of the library and stumbled back to his room.


	3. Chapter 3

It was impossible grow up in such close quarters as Dean and Sam had and not learn every tiny thing about them, even if you'd prefer not to know. Today was one of those days when Dean's duty as a brother clashed with his desire not to be dragged into some emotional drama. But Sam was quiet and withdrawn, and that was rare enough to be of concern. He was sat at the kitchen table staring at his laptop, but Dean could tell he wasn't actually seeing anything on the screen.

"Looking for a case?" he asked, supping at his beer and offering a bottle to his brother. Sam looked up and nodded, accepting the proffered drink without saying a word. "Find anything?"

Sam shook his head, and took a swig from the bottle. Dean studied him, looking for any sign that the spirit infection had returned. Physically, Sam looked OK, but there was definitely something up. He wondered if he should ask Cas to talk to him. Sometimes the angel was able to connect with Sam on some level he never could. A nerdy level.

His phone beeped and he pulled it out of his pocket and saw he had a text message.

_What does it mean if a fairground haunted house is actually haunted?_

It wasn't signed but he recognized the number.

"Crowley sent me a text," he said, bemused. Crowley wasn't exactly on his list of favorite people right now, and he was pretty sure the demon knew that. So why was he sending cryptic messages? Sam said nothing, in fact he gave no indication he'd even heard Dean speak. Sighing, he dialed the King of Hell's number and put it on speaker.

"Dean," Crowley said expansively when he answered.

"What do you want?" Dean said shortly. He really wasn't in the mood for Crowley's crap.

"I'm sending you a case," the demon replied. Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. What on earth was he trying to drag him into now?

"Why?" he demanded. "In case you forgot, we ain't friends and Sam and I don't work for you."

"No need to be rude," Crowley said mildly. "I just thought you might be interested is all."

"Bullshit," Dean said. "Why do you really want us to look into this?"

There was a long suffering sigh. "Something's going on out there. Something big. I just don't have a good handle on it yet. Haven't you noticed? My demons are reporting a huge spike in crossroads summonings, three of my best people were almost killed by a freaking ghost, which shouldn't even be possible and suicides are up over forty percent!"

"Suicides?" Dean repeated. "How do you know that?"

"Suicides have to pass through Purgatory before ascending to Heaven or descending to Hell," Crowley explained. "So, when traffic from Purgatory increases, it's usually due to a suicide spike. Normally we only see changes around certain holidays. Christmas and Thanksgiving are the two big ones in the US, and there's also a spike in early spring for some reason. But it's June. It should be quiet."

"And you said your people were hurt by a ghost?" Sam interjected, and suddenly Dean was feeling a lot less hostile towards the King of Hell. He'd managed to spark Sam's interest and Dean couldn't help but be a little bit grateful.

"Right," Crowley said. "Simmons, Bertram and Courtney were out uh, doing a little reconnaissance for me and they had a little R and R time at a local county fair. Which is when they ran into this ghost haunting the Haunted House."

"Demons went to a county fair," Dean said in bemusement.

"They had funnel cake," Crowley said, like this was an explanation.

Sam gave a faint smile. "Demons can't resist funnel cake. Who knew?"

"OK, OK. So tell us about this ghost," Dean ordered.

"Simmons? Tell Dean what happened." Crowley said.

"We were in the haunted house," a female voice said, sounding annoyed. "Bertram was slightly ahead of me and Courtney. A human in a stupid-ass costume jumped out to scare us, which was lame, but then something suddenly slit Bertram's throat and he bled out in front of us, in like a few seconds. Which was not lame, but was a bit… surprising. Bertram tried to smoke out but he couldn't, something was keeping him in his meatsuit. Courtney grabbed the human but he was freaking out and screaming about a spooky old man, and he wriggled free and ran out of there like all the hounds of Hell were on his tail.

"We had to force Bertram out of his meatsuit and send him back to Hell, we didn't have any choice. He was screaming and screaming, even though his throat was slit. Then something attacked Courtney and it was all we could do just to hold it off. I've never met a ghost so strong."

"Why do you think it was a ghost?" Dean asked.

"I don't know what else it could have been," Simmons said. "It was invisible, it was very strong and tossed us around like toys. And nothing we could throw at it made the slightest difference. We only got away because Courtney had all these salt packets in his pocket his meatsuit had collected from fast food restaurants."

Dean couldn't help but laugh. Simmons made a sound that indicated her displeasure.

"Yes, very funny," Crowley said irritably as he came back on the line. "What's not funny is no ghost should be able to do that kind of thing to a demon. It's unheard of. So I want to know what's going on."

"All right," Dean relented. "Tell us where this funhouse is and maybe we'll check it out."

"Mayes County Fairgrounds, Oklahoma," Crowley said. "If you do this for me, I'll owe you a favor. That can't be a bad thing, surely."

"Whatever," Dean said. As far as he was concerned, Crowley had plenty red in his ledger already. He hung up and looked at Sam. "So, Mayes County?"

"Got it," Sam said. "Gimme half an hour and we'll hit the road?"

"I'll let Cas know," Dean said. Sam froze and then tried to cover it with a series of jerky motions as if he were stiff from sitting too long.

"Do you think he'll want to come with us?" he said casually. Except everything about him was radiating tension and even Dean, master of denial, couldn't ignore the fact that something was definitely going on with his brother and it involved Cas. He remembered Cas's whispered confession about his behavior when under Rowena's spell and almost groaned aloud. Had Cas done something to make it weird between them? It seemed likely, the angel blundered through human interactions like a winged bull in a emotional china shop and Sam was easy to upset. Even after all the years they'd known him, Cas's ability to understand and empathize was limited. Although, if Dean was being honest with himself, perhaps he and Sam weren't the best teachers.

"I don't think so," he said and wanted to swear when Sam visibly relaxed. Dammit Cas. Now he was going to have to find a way to tell the angel they were going on a case and that he wasn't invited.

Dean found Cas in the library, surrounded by books and papers and his hair was wild, as though he'd been thrusting his hands into it repeatedly. He raised his head when Dean entered, a nervous look on his face, but he relaxed as soon as he recognized it was Dean and not Sam. Dean gritted his teeth.

"Hey, so me and Sam are gonna go check out a little case in Oklahoma. I can see you're busy so we'll just leave you to it." He was gabbling, the words almost falling out on top of one another and Cas raised an eyebrow at him.

"You don't want me to come along?" he said.

"Nah," Dean said. "It's nothing special, simple ghost hunt. You'd be bored and I know you're deep into-" he waved a hand at the table. "Whatever it is."

"I'm looking into the ghost you encountered in Missouri," Cas said. "I'm trying to find another case of a telepathic ghost."

"Did you find one?" Dean asked. He wasn't especially happy that Cas was still obsessed with that case. It was just an odd case, it happened. Didn't have to mean anything more was going on.

"No." The angel's mouth turned down. "Are you sure I shouldn't come? What if you meet another ghost like that girl?"

"Look, it was probably a one off. We've got this one covered, I promise. And if when we get there it looks more than we can handle, we'll give you a call, OK?"

Cas nodded, smiling. "Of course." He returned his attention to his books.

* * *

The prospect of a new case seemed to have buoyed Sam's spirits somewhat, and that made Dean absurdly grateful to Crowley, which he hated. He also wasn't keen on the King of Hell enlisting them to investigate things, since that had worked out so well last time. But with Amara in the wind and the fact that Crowley had sounded genuinely freaked out, it was better than sitting around the bunker.

Sam was still quieter than normal, but at least he was engaging when Dean spoke to him. That was about the limit of Dean's desire to dig into his brother's inner life. He saw a sign for a diner he'd stopped at years ago with his dad, back when Sam was at Stanford and he remembered they had some amazing pie.

"Hey, you wanna stop, get something to eat?" he said, looking over at Sam who was reading something on his phone.

"Sure," Sam said distractedly.

Dean pulled into the parking lot and climbed out of the car, looking around and noting the changes since he'd last been here. The diner had a new sign and the parking lot had been resurfaced and extended. Apparently life was treating the owners well.

Inside, there were also improvements. The old cracked vinyl seats had been replaced and the menus were now glossy and laminated, illustrated with professional photographs, instead of the older plain printed menus Dean remembered. The waitress was young and pretty, and she beamed at them as they entered.

"Hi," she chirped. "Welcome to the Silver Dollar. Two?"

"Yeah," Dean said, peering at her nametag. "Aretha." He gestured around the diner. "You guys have done some renovations since I was last here."

"My uncle Brody passed away about ten years ago, and left the place to my mom and dad," Aretha said. "Turns out, he had been stashing money literally under the mattress. Dad decided to invest some of it on sprucing the place up."

"Cool," Dean said, not really that interested but he saw no reason to be rude. Aretha showed them to a booth and took their coffee order while they perused the menu.

"I came here with Dad," Dean said. "Must have been 2004. We were heading to Tulsa to investigate a supposed zombie."

"I take it wasn't actually a zombie."

"Nah, it was a draug," Dean said, grinning in reminiscence. "I think Dad said they came from Iceland. Re-animated corpse that comes back to protect the treasures they'd accumulated in life."

"Kind of like a revenant then," Sam said.

"Similar. Damn thing could change size, growing as big as an elephant. And totally immune to anything but cold iron. Dad tried to hack its head off with a machete and it just bounced off. We ended up having to saw its head off with this ridiculously tiny knife." Dean spread his fingers about five inches apart. "We'd trapped it in a salt circle and stabbed it in the eye to keep it quiet and then hacked away at its neck, Dad swearing and cursing the whole time."

Sam laughed, and it was good to hear. "Sounds fun," he said.

"Oh, yeah, it was a blast." Aretha had returned with their coffee and she looked expectantly at Dean. "What kind of pie have you got for me?"

"Cherry, apple, peach or pecan," she told him.

"Apple," Dean decided. "Sam?"

"The Cobb salad," Sam said. "Italian dressing on the side."

"Sure thing," Aretha said, bobbing off to place their order.

"I've been looking into this fair," Sam said, picking up his phone. "The local paper has a story on another incident that happened there."

"Yeah?" Dean said. "On the same day as Crowley's minions?"

"Hard to say," Sam said. "The article doesn't specify the date. Just says the weekend. Anyway, get this. Twin girls, Jennifer and Jeanine McGiffen, vanished after visiting the haunted house."

Dean waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Twins?"

"They're eleven years old," Sam said repressively. Dean's smile dropped. "They sent out an amber alert, but there's not much to go on. Nobody saw the girls after they entered the attraction. Their parents waited outside with their four year old son and got concerned when the girls didn't reappear after a half hour. They went inside with a fair employee but there was no sign of them, other than a hair barrette belonging to Jennifer that they found about halfway through."

"So they definitely went inside," Dean said. "Could be a coincidence, just a creeper."

"I doubt it," Sam replied.

"Yeah, me too. OK, did you dig up anything else? History of the fair, anything to go on?"

"Maybe," Sam said. "There was a famous local murderer used to trawl the fair for victims in the late 1970's. Guy called Dennis Williams. He lured kids away with promises of showing them puppies and kittens. He was only caught when a boy he approached happened to have a penknife in his pocket. When Williams tried to bundle him into his car, the kid stabbed him in the leg and hollered his head off. There were a lot of police in the area of course, so they were able to catch the guy red-handed."

"Puppies and kittens, Jesus, doesn't anyone come up with anything original? What happened to Williams?"

"He was sentenced to death," Sam said, scrolling through the Wikipedia entry on his phone. "Oh."

"What?"

"He was on death row since he was convicted and was scheduled to be executed back in the 1990's but the governor of Oklahoma granted clemency and his sentence was reduced to life without parole. He just died, three weeks ago, in prison."

"Was it a violent death?"

"No, heart attack," Sam said. "But he wasn't exactly a model prisoner. Got in a lot of fights. So I could see him becoming an violent spirit, easy."

"How come the governor granted clemency anyway?" Dean asked. "Child murderers don't usually get much mercy."

"According to this, his attorney argued that Williams had an abusive childhood and couldn't help the things he'd done. The governor obviously thought that was grounds enough."

"Hmm," Dean said, disgusted.

Aretha returned with Dean's pie and Sam's salad, and she was peering at Dean. He shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny. "You said you came here years ago, before my uncle died. I remember you."

Sam raised his eyebrows disapprovingly at Dean, since this young woman couldn't have been older than twenty-five now. Dean spread his hands innocently.

"You do?"

"Yes. Your name is Dean. You were here with an older man, was he your dad?"

"Yeah," Dean said nervously.

Aretha looked around her, and then leaned in. "He left something here for you. He said you'd come back for it, but you never did."

"Dad never mentioned this," Dean said in surprise.

Aretha slipped a small package out of her pocket and laid it on the table. It was about the size of a cigarette packet and wrapped in brown paper. The outside said 'Dean' in large black letters. There was no doubt it was their Dad's handwriting. Aretha nodded to them both and drifted away.

Dean stared at the package, utterly perplexed. Why would his dad leave him a package at this remote diner? How would Dad even know he would ever come back here?

"Are you going to open it?" Sam said in a hushed voice, clearly as spooked as Dean was.

Reaching out trembling fingers, Dean unwrapped the paper to find a small carved wooden box. He flipped open the lid and inside was an amulet on a leather cord. He lifted it out and dangled it in front of his eyes. The amulet appeared to be carved from some kind of bone, and was a circle with a triangle inside it. There was also a note, scrawled on paper evidently torn from John's journal.

_Dean,_

_If you've come here to pick up this packet, you've followed the instructions I left you in my journal and probably have a lot of questions. I know things are hard right now, and I can't even promise you that you can bring Sammy back from this path he's chosen. I've probably warned you by now that you may have to kill him in order to save the world from what he might become. Believe me when I tell you it was not easy for me when I found out about his destiny. This amulet is an ancient Mayan artifact which protects the wearer against psychic attack. If Sam has gone bad, it may be your only protection._

_I left more instructions for you with Maureen Kirk in Oklahoma City. She was a terrific hunter back in the day and still one of the foremost demonologists in the US._

_Dad_

Dean read the letter twice before shoving it at Sam without comment. Sam read it slowly and then looked up, his eyes haunted.

"This is about the Apocalypse?"

"Looks like," Dean said heavily. "When Dad died, he left me all these instructions about you. I… I never followed up on most of them." He pushed away the remains of his pie, his appetite gone.

"Wow," Sam said. "Dad really didn't have much faith in me did he?"

"Screw him," Dean said aggressively. "I knew better."

"Dean-"

"No," Dean said, slapping one hand on the table. "It's a relic, Sam. Ignore it. Dad's gone and you're still here." He tossed the amulet on the table. "Let's go."

Sam nodded and pulled out his wallet to pay the check. Dean strode off out of the diner without a backwards glance. He didn't see Sam pick up the amulet, the box and the letter and slip them into his pocket.

* * *

"Dean Fleetwood, FBI," Dean said, flashing his badge. "This here's my partner, Sam McVie."

"Thank God," the deputy said with feeling. ""I'm Henry Malvas Jr. This is a nice, quiet town. Nothing bad ever happens here. Child abduction is just completely out of our experience." He was a slight young man, with pale blue eyes and thinning blond hair, tall but slender. Sam doubted he'd be much use in a fight.

"That's not entirely true, is it?" Dean said. "Dennis Williams took kids from here, years ago."

"That was a long time ago," the deputy hissed. "I was in kindergarten!"

"OK," Sam said, intervening before Dean blew their chances of cooperation. "We're not accusing anyone of anything, my partner just means there must be someone around who remembers that case."

"Yeah, my dad was on the taskforce," Malvas said. "He's retired now. You don't think the two cases are connected do you? Dennis Williams is dead."

"We don't think so, but we can't rule out a copycat," Sam said. Malvas nodded and turned to gesture at the haunted house attraction, festooned with police tape and looking distinctly shabby and more cheesy than creepy in the midday sun. "Help yourselves. Sheriff told me to give you everything you need."


	4. Chapter 4

Sam looked at the building, which appeared to be some kind of trailer on which a wooden house had been constructed. At night, carefully lit and populated by costumed employees, it probably was quite effective. He climbed the steps which creaked atmospherically and opened the door. Inside was dim and there was fluorescent paint on the walls in the shapes of skulls and horrifying screaming faces. Sam rolled his eyes.

"It's a nice change to get people who are actually pleased to see us," Dean said.

"I suppose," Sam replied. "Don't you think it's strange that Deputy Malvas was the only one here? I know it's a small town but still, one deputy doesn't seem like much."

"The sheriff said there'd be two deputies," Dean recalled. "The other one probably went for a smoke or something." He eyed the decorations with a jaundiced air. "This place is stupid."

Sam agreed, but he had to admit, the air in the place had a strange, expectant feel to it. He pulled out his EMF meter and it screamed at him, burying the needle. Turning to Dean, he switched it off and put it back in his pocket.

"Not a hoax, then," Dean said, his mouth thinning. He cocked the sawn-off shotgun he'd concealed in his jacket and proceeded forward. Sam followed him, the hair on the back of his neck rising as they walked.

"Do you think we should go back to the car and get a few more supplies?" He was feeling distinctly unnerved, which was ridiculous but he just couldn't shake it off.

"Sam, it's the middle of the day. What are the chances anything's actually gonna manifest?"

Dean was right, Sam knew it. Hell, he'd been hunting ghosts most of his life, and yeah they could be creepy and sometimes downright dangerous, but he'd never felt anything like this insidious prowling dread. It was quiet and as they moved deeper inside the structure, Sam began to feel a little peculiar, dizzy and nauseous. He reached out and tapped Dean on the shoulder.

"Dean, doesn't this place seem… big?"

"Yeah." Dean replied unhappily. "There's no way we shouldn't be near the exit by now but it just seems to be going on forever."

"Some kind of space or time manipulation?"

"I never heard of ghosts being able to do that," Dean looked around the narrow corridor and then rapped on one of the walls with his knuckles. "I wish we'd brought a sledgehammer."

"Might have looked a little strange to that deputy out there," Sam observed. "How solid is it, do you think?"

"In a trailer like this, it should be plywood. But listen, it's like knocking on a brick wall." Dean kicked the offending wall and left little more than a scuff mark.

"More than just space manipulation then," Sam sighed. "This is heavy duty, Dean."

"Tell me about it," Dean grumbled. "Hey! Come on out and face us, asshole!" His sudden yell made Sam jump.

"Sure, piss it off," he muttered. But if the spirit heard them, it didn't respond. "What are we going to do?"

"We either keep moving or we stay here," Dean said. "I say we stay put. Make it come to us."

That made sense, to Sam's mind. Walkling these endless corridors had not gained them anything. Perhaps if they refused to play the game anymore, the ghost might make itself known. He sat down on the floor and leaned his head against the wall. Dean canted an eyebrow at him and then followed suit, sitting opposite him and closing his eyes.

"This is the most boring hunt ever," he complained.

"Shh," Sam said. "Listen."

Distantly, there were the sounds of footsteps. Light-footed and slightly scraping, as though one foot were being dragged along the ground. Sam noticed a faint haze forming a few feet from where they were sat and it slowly resolved into the figure of an old man.

"What are you doing here?" he rasped. He was stooped and resting on a gnarled wooden cane. His clothes were indistinct but Sam thought it looked like blue jeans and a pale blue shirt. Not unlike prison attire, in fact. He wondered if this was Dennis Williams, the man's features were difficult to make out, but it seemed likely.

"We're hunters," he said. "Are you the one who took the twins?"

"Faugh," the old man spat. "Do I look stupid boy?"

"Well," Sam hedged. "I try to have an open mind about who looks like what."

"Idiot," the old man muttered and turned his attention to Dean. "I wonder if you have any more brains than your brother." Dean blinked in surprise and cast a quick glance at Sam.

"Probably not," he admitted. "Look, we're just looking for two little girls. They came in here and disappeared."

"Oh them," the old man snorted. "They're here. They're happy, why spoil their fun?"

"Their parents are worried," Sam said and the old man glared at him. "Please."

The mist swirling around the old man resolved into two more figures and Sam recognized the faces of the missing girls. Sam wanted to weep. If they were here, manifesting in this way, they were surely dead.

"They're dead?" Dean said. echoing his brother's thoughts.

"As a doornail," the old man agreed. He gave the girls an affectionate look. "I promised to look after them."

"Damn," Dean swore. "What happened?"

"They opened the wrong door," the old man said, his face turning vicious. "Once you enter my world, you're mine. If you can't find your way out, after a while the lack of water and food will get you."

"They've only been missing for two days," Sam objected. "That's not long enough to die of thirst, surely."

"Two days?" the old man began to laugh, a hideous creaking sound. "Oh, that's funny. How long do you think you've been in here?"

"I don't know, an hour," Dean said. He looked at his watch and frowned. "My watch stopped."

Sam pulled out his phone, but it was dead. "So how long have we been in here?"

"A day and a half," the old man told him. "The sheriff has sent out search parties but of course he won't find you. Perhaps I'll let him find the girl's bodies. That should distract him."

The girls had said nothing during this exchange but after this threat, they looked at each other and then shoved the old man forward. He screeched an unholy sound that made Sam's ears ring. Dean brought the shotgun up and fired, the old man's form dissipating in the hail of rock salt.

"This guy's body must be in the haunted house somewhere," Sam gasped. "Or something he's attached to."

The two girls beckoned to them and Sam looked at Dean. "Do we follow them?"

"Sure," Dean said. "I mean, what choice do we have?"

The girls led them through the maze-like halls of the haunted house, neatly sidestepping to avoid pressure pads and trapdoors that Sam desperately hoped were not part of the attraction but installed by the insane old ghost. Eventually, they reached a corridor that looked like the one by which they'd entered and Sam let out a breath of relief. Unfortunately, that was short-lived as they tugged at the door handle to find it completely jammed.

"Not so fast!" the old man snarled, forming up in front of Sam like a gust of wind and grabbing him by the lapels. He lifted Sam bodily off the ground and Sam kicked futilely at him. The shotgun roared as Dean fired and Sam was dropped to the floor. He winced and staggered backwards.

"Shit! Dean, what do we do?" Sam barked.

"I dunno," Dean grated. "This son-of-a-bitch has to be close, why else would the twins bring us here?"

Sam spotted a thin line in one of the walls and on impulse pushed at it. A hidden door sprang open and his jaw dropped. Inside was a kind of shrine to Dennis Williams. Newspaper articles about his crimes and the trial. Evidence bags that must have been stolen from the police. A pile of letters between Williams and an unknown correspondent he only addressed as 'Son'. And in the middle of the small altar was a pentagram drawn in chalk, five candles and a bowl filled with congealing blood.

"Damn it. Blood seance. Someone summoned this mofo," Dean snapped.

"Right," Sam agreed. "Dean, how the Hell are we going to kill this thing?"

"He has to be bound to something," Dean said. "Maybe the summoner dug up his body after he died?"

"There aren't any bones here," Sam said. "Could he have used the letters?"

"I don't know if paper can take that kind of energy," Dean said doubtfully. He looked down to see one of the twins tugging on his sleeve. She was pointed to the end of the corridor, where Williams's spirit was starting to reform. "What the Hell, let's try it. Sam, burn them."

Sam didn't miss a beat. He took his lighter from his pocket and lit it, touching the flame to the pile of letters. They caught easily and orange flames began to lick at the edges. "Is it working?"

"No," Dean said. He fired the shotgun again but Williams was ready for him and had teleported safely out of the way. A cold hand wrapped around Sam's ankle and he jerked in surprise. Looking down, he could see a small, disembodied blue hand and he kicked out his leg, trying to dislodge it. Not only did this not work, but more hands appeared, pulling at his pant legs, his shirt sleeves and he could even feel a couple in his hair.

Dean raised the shotgun again but before he could fire, the twins suddenly shot past him and launched themselves at Williams. There was a sort of soundless explosion and Sam crashed into the open door of the hidden room, Dean flying past him with a squawk of outrage. And then there was silence. Sam patted himself down, but thankfully the horrid hands were gone.

"Did they…"

"Yeah," Dean said. "I think the twins sacrificed themselves to take him out."

Ignoring the pain that throbbed behind his eyes, Sam tossed the remaining articles and photos from the shrine onto the small fire, watching as they burned merrily. "We still don't know who summoned his ghost."

"I'll give you one guess," a new voice said.

Sam wanted to kick himself as he recognized it as Deputy Malvas. He'd been suspicious of the fact the man was alone, and he'd ignored his instincts.

"Why?" Dean demanded. "What the Hell is wrong with you?"

"Nothing's wrong with me," Malvas denied. "It's the world that's wrong. My father was a visionary."

"I don't understand," Sam admitted.

"Dennis Williams was my real father, not Henry Malvas Sr. He was dating my mom when he was arrested and she was already pregnant with me. She never told anyone about her relationship with Williams, nobody knew but her and me. When I turned fifteen, we started visiting him in jail and I wrote letters to him. He explained that the courts were wrong to convict him, that he'd been on a holy mission to exterminate those destined to bring evil into the world."

"My God," Sam breathed. "They were children."

"Children grow up!" Malvas shrieked. "And look at what they turn into, Sam Winchester. Tell me the world wouldn't have been better off if you and your brother had died in that fire."

"How the Hell do you know about that?" Dean growled.

"I have knowledgeable friends," Malvas said. "Now, as fun as this little chat has been, I really have to-" His gun began to rise and Sam went for his own but he knew he was going to be too late. But before Malvas could fire, Dean fired the shotgun. Since it was loaded with salt, it wouldn't harm him but the deputy didn't know that and he ducked. It was enough of a distraction for Sam to pull his own gun and point it directly at the man.

"Drop it."

"You won't shoot me," Malvas said confidently. "I heard all about how noble you think you are." He waved the gun at him and smiled. "You drop it." Sam set his jaw and sighted along the barrel. "I'm not kidding around here."

The annoying thing was, he was right. Sam pointed his gun away from the deputy in defeat and made to drop it on the ground when his ears vibrated with the sound of Dean's gun firing. A red spot bloomed in the center of Malvas's forehead before he tumbled to the ground. Sam turned in astonishment to see the wisp of smoke rising from the barrel of Dean's favorite pistol. Carefully, he walked over to Malvas's prone body and checked his pulse though it was hardly necessary.

"Jesus, Dean," Sam said. He felt a little dizzy. This wasn't the first time he or Dean had been forced to kill someone, but that didn't make it any less disturbing.

"I had to shoot him," Dean said defensively. He looked a little shell-shocked now that Sam examined him closer. His face was pale and he was sweating, his hands shaking and he was breathing hard.

"No, I know," Sam assured him, gripping his shoulder as an offer of comfort. "But what are we going to do now?"

"Leave," Dean said shortly, and opened the door to the outside world.

* * *

"We still don't know why that ghost was able to hurt Crowley's demons," Sam said as Dean gunned the engine. His face was set and Sam was afraid Dean was going to pull one of his classic withdrawals, refusing to engage or talk about a problem.

"Does it matter?' Dean retorted. "It's gone. End of story." His tone made it clear he did not want to discuss it, but Sam wasn't going to be so easily dissuaded.

"I dunno," Sam said. "Remember that ghost in Branson. She was weirdly overpowered too." Dean's hands flexed in irritation. Again, Sam had to wonder why he was so resistant to the idea there was anything bigger going on here. It wasn't like they didn't have large threats on their radar, things like this could be an important clue. Amara was out there doing who knows what and she was so unlike anything they'd ever faced before, the consequences of her being on earth could literally be anything.

"Sam, if a couple of ghosts are eating their Wheaties, how is that our problem?" Dean was angry now and Sam had to take a deep breath not to just snap back.

"Because what if these aren't isolated incidents?" he countered. "You heard Crowley, the increase in suicides and people willing to sell their souls. Plus these strange ghosts. Don't you think that points to something?"

"Sam, we only have Crowley's word about the suicides and the summonings," Dean reminded him. And there was the other, albeit smaller mystery. Dean got antsy every time Crowley's name came up in conversation, in a way that made Sam wonder exactly what Dean had gotten up to with the demon king during his own spell as a Knight of Hell. Dean had not talked about it much, which was hardly a surprise, but if it was just embarrassment over demonic behavior, Sam would have expected him to open up to Cas if not to him.

"OK, but that doesn't mean he lied. It's an odd thing to lie about, don't you think? What would he have to gain?" Sam didn't like how edgy this was making Dean but he couldn't figure out what it was that was making him so determined to ignore what was in front of their faces.

"He wants my attention. Our attention. Probably some nefarious plot or other, you know him." Sam studied his brother for a moment, the tension on his face and the way he was gripping the steering wheel so tightly. Why was this bothering him so much?

"OK," Sam said, thinking furiously. "Let's say you're right, Crowley is trying to tangle us up in one of his plots. What does he want from us?" Dean didn't answer and Sam didn't expect him to. "Let me dig into his claims about the suicides," Sam decided. "That might be possible to corroborate."

* * *

To Sam's surprise, Cas was waiting anxiously for them when they returned to the bunker. Dean returned his unexpected hug briefly before clapping him on the shoulder and announcing he was going to hit the shower. The angel stood there, not moving to embrace Sam but he had the sense it was only because Cas was holding himself back.

"Are you OK?" he asked. Cas was fidgeting in an uncharacteristic manner and his eyes were wide.

"I was worried," the angel admitted. "You were broadcasting a lot of fear, Sam."

"I was?" Sam said in astonishment. "I guess it did get a bit scary for a moment." He smiled at Cas, aware that it probably looked a bit strained. He was still uncomfortable from their last conversation and learning that he was unconsciously sharing his emotional states with the angel was not a comforting thought.

Cas gave him an uncertain look and then reached out and gripped his arm. "Come down to the library," he said. "I need to talk to you about something."

Sam's stomach dropped and he searched the angel's face for some indication of where this conversation was likely to go. Since he'd invited Sam and pointedly excluded Dean, Sam had the sickening feeling he wasn't going to enjoy this discussion. He followed Cas through the hall, his stomach churning with anxiety.

On the large table, Cas had spread out an enormous map that covered the entire right half of the table and it was covered with pins, string and small sticky notes. The rest of the table was covered in books, newspapers and printed copies of online articles. Sam blinked at the amount of work it must have taken. And where had he found this huge paper map?

"Wow," he said.

Cas gave him a shy smile. "I've been busy," he said.

"You certainly have. What is this?" Sam leaned over to inspect the map, marvelling at what the angel had created.

"I mapped out the ghost in Branson," Cas pointed to the city where a pin had been placed and several strings radiated outwards. "The ghost you just investigated in Oklahoma and some other ghost reports from local news outlets here, here and here." All the locations were spread across the midwest and connected with the strings. "It all seems to revolve around this place, Rogers, Arkansas."

"Huh," Sam said. "What's there?"

"Nothing of interest, as far as I know," the angel admitted. "That's where this falls apart a little. There's no Hellgates, magical locations or other reason for everything to be criss-crossing at this point."

"Well, maybe it's just that we don't know about it yet," Sam offered. He gripped the angel's shoulder and squeezed it affectionately. "I can't believe you did all this in just a few days."

"I don't sleep, remember," Cas rumbled. Sam noticed the angel's voice had dropped a little deeper and he realized he was probably being over familiar, all things considered. He went to retract his hand and Cas grabbed his wrist. His eyes were intent on Sam's and the hunter was surprised by how large the angel's pupils were.

"The last time we were in here I was explaining how I don't understand sexual attraction. I think you misunderstood that to mean I don't experience it." Before Sam could come up with a coherent response to that astonishing statement, Cas tugged him forward and kissed him.

If the kiss on the table had been wild and lusty and the kiss in the warehouse mind-blowingly sensual, this kiss with Cas fully in charge of himself was all of those things. Sam was half convinced he might actually burst into flames. Cas plundered his mouth unapologetically, pressing their bodies close together and making a guttural sound in his throat. He was hot and needy and breathless and Sam wanted him like he'd never wanted anyone before. Not even Jess had been able to make him feel like this.

The angel was carefully steering him towards the table and with one sweeping motion, pushed the books and papers onto the floor, carefully avoiding the map. When Sam's back touched the edge of the table, Cas lifted him easily onto it. He pushed Sam backwards until the hunter was lying down and then climbed over him to straddle his hips. To Sam's utter astonishment, it seemed the angel fully intended to have him right there and then.

"Cas," he panted. "Are we really going to do this? Here, I mean."

The angel stilled. "I thought it was what you wanted," he said cautiously. "Did I make a mistake?"

"No, no. Definitely not. But you realize Dean could walk in here at any moment?"

Cas regarded him gravely. "I will know if he approaches. And right now he's sleeping. He's unlikely to disturb us for some time yet."

"OK. But if he comes in here and yells at us, I'm blaming you."

"You're quite safe," Cas told him as he started peeling Sam out of his clothes. He gave Sam a wicked grin that was both astounding and undeniably erotic on his face. "From Dean, anyway." Sam shivered with desire, wondering vaguely how Cas had somehow taken charge. He wasn't complaining.

* * *

Sam lay bonelessly on the library table, unable to process what had just happened. After agonizing over whether to even talk to Cas about the attraction that had flared between them while he was under the influence of Rowena's spell, and then their disastrous discussion of the matter, Sam had convinced himself that he was the only one still feeling it. That he couldn't have been more wrong was wondrous and strange. Cas had slid easily into a dominant role and Sam had submissively followed where the angel had led. Another surprise, on both accounts.

"Dean is on his way here," Cas mumbled against his throat, making Sam freeze.

"Shit," he said expressively. "We better move, we can't let him find us like this."

Cas's eyes darkened. "What do you want to do?"

"Can we make it to your room without him seeing us?"

"Yes," Cas said. He lifted himself off Sam's body, pausing momentarily to splay one hand against his bare hip in a possessive manner that made Sam quiver. "But we need to move quickly."

Sam nodded and began to gather his clothing and when he went to wriggle into his boxer shorts, Cas caught his arm.

"No time," the angel hissed. "Come on!"

Giving Cas a startled look, Sam abandoned his efforts to dress himself and peeked out into the corridor.

"OK, let's go, " he said, fleeing towards Cas's room, the angel in hot pursuit.

* * *

Dean padded barefoot into the kitchen, yawning and rubbing at his face. He'd slept poorly, plagued by odd dreams and eventually had gotten up again in defeat. It had been after midnight when they'd gotten back and it was only a little before 2am now. He located a bottle of whiskey and then went off in search of Cas. To his surprise he wasn't in the library, but the room was in an impressive state, books and papers spread all over the table and some even spilled onto the floor. A large map was spread out on one side of the table and Cas's trenchcoat was also on the floor in a pile, which gave him pause. The angel almost never took it off, so why was it here looking like it had been flung across the room?

Shrugging, he headed off to Cas's room and knocked on the door. He heard him moving around and a couple of thumps.

"Just a minute," the angel called out. "Don't come in."

What on earth was Cas doing in there? Watching porn again? He didn't want to know. Rolling his eyes, he said, "I didn't want to interrupt, I was just having trouble sleeping. I wanted someone to talk to and I didn't want to wake Sam."

"Uh, no, thanks," Cas said. His voice sounded a little strangled and Dean frowned.

"You OK in there?" he asked.

"Fine," Cas replied. "Just… watching TV."

"OK," Dean said, mystified and a little irritated. "I'll see you later."

* * *

Cas lifted his head from where he'd been driving Sam half insane with soft butterfly kisses to his stomach, gradually drifting lower until Dean had knocked at the door.

"He's gone," the angel said.

"Yes," Sam agreed. "Thank God."

"I should really let you sleep," Cas said.

Sam huffed out a breath of desperate need. "You can't stop now," he begged.

"An hour then," Cas decided. He looked thoughtful. "I can do a lot in an hour." Sam's eyes nearly crossed at the matter of fact way the angel stated this. Cas returned to his ministrations and Sam writhed underneath him, moaning and panting with desire. He reached out to touch the angel and he responded by pinning Sam's wrist to the the bed.

"Don't you… want me… to… return the favor..." he gasped.

Cas didn't respond, other than to give him a look that made his toes curl. Sam knew who was in charge here, and to his continued shock it wasn't him. So much for not understanding human sexuality, he thought ruefully. Cas had reached his destination and Sam pushed any further musings aside, unable to do anything more than feel.


	5. Chapter 5

Sam woke slowly and became fuzzily aware that he wasn't in his room. He rubbed at his eyes and looked around, he wasn't in a motel room. This looked like the bunker except… Memory reasserted himself and his entire body quaked with it. This was Cas's room.  _Oh, God._  After the most mindblowing sex in the library, completely out of the blue, they'd decamped down here to avoid discovery by an insomniac Dean. Where Cas had taken it upon himself to drive Sam insane with eroticism. He still couldn't quite believe it. The innocence Cas liked to project concealed a great deal of creativity and Sam suspected considerable research. He trembled again at the thought of what else the angel might do next.

But he needed to get up and out of here before Dean arose and started asking inconvenient questions. It wasn't that he was ashamed of sleeping with Cas, but he wasn't sure how Dean would react and if he was honest with himself, he wasn't sure if this was just some kind of experiment for the angel. He was all too aware of how easy it would be to fall in love, but that could get awkward if Cas wanted nothing more than to explore this side of humanity. Grimacing at himself for letting his mind run rampant, he cautiously checked the corridor before scooting out and off to his room.

Once safely ensconced inside, he picked up his tablet to check his email and browse his news feeds to see if anything looked interesting. Nothing caught his attention, so he opened the browser to look for any stories in Rogers, AR, that might qualify as a potential case. He wasn't disappointed.

* * *

"You up for a new case?" Sam asked as Dean entered the kitchen and began helping himself to coffee.

"Sure," Dean said. "Just lemme get some caffeine first, OK?"

"Go ahead," Sam said. He watched his brother move around the kitchen and when he finally sat down, mug in hand, Sam realized his eyes were red and bloodshot. "You OK?"

"Headache," Dean said shortly, a tone that brooked no inquiry.

"Again? OK. So, get this, police in Rogers, Arkansas are investigating a murder of a young woman, Heather Ridley. She left her home to go to her job at Mercy Hospital Northwest Arkansas, but never arrives. Her car is found abandoned by the side of I-49, the route she took to work, the windscreen is smashed and she's in the driver's seat. Shot dead."

"Wow," Dean said. "I mean, not exactly our kind of thing, but shooting someone while they're driving along? That's a crack shot."

"I know," Sam said. "But here's where it gets weird. Investigators identify where the car left the road and police marksmen figure out the most likely area where the shooter must have stood, based on the caliber of the rifle round and other forensic evidence from the body and the vehicle. They search the location but don't find much. It's a concrete overpass carrying the West Pauline Whitaker Parkway, and busy enough that they're not surprised when they don't find anything at the location." Dean's eyes were starting to glaze over. "Stay with me. Despite the lack of forensics, they're sure that's where the shooter must have stood and they're in luck, a traffic camera is pointed right at the overpass. OK? Now watch this, here's the video." Sam turned his laptop around and clicked on the video file he'd been sent.

Dean watched, his eyes narrowed as a dark figure walked into frame, set up a rifle and waited for Ridley's car and then took aim and fired. The car could be seen swerving before leaving the frame. And then the shooter just faded away. Dean's mouth dropped open.

"A phantom sniper?" he said in astonishment.

"Looks like," Sam said.

"But… OK, ghosts can be corporeal, especially if they're angry, right. We know that. But a spectral gun? With real bullets? How does that even begin to make sense?"

"I have no idea. But you saw the video. It's been investigated by the FBI, because the police thought maybe the camera had been hacked or something. But their analysts couldn't find anything wrong, not with the camera or the recording."

"So what was their explanation for the guy just vanishing?" Dean challenged.

Sam grinned at him. "Fog."

"You're joking."

"I wish I was. No, seriously, that was their conclusion. Listen, '...a patch of fog partially obscured the camera at the crucial moment, leaving this curious optical illusion...'."

"Bullshit," Dean said succinctly. "It's not a sunny day, but there's plenty of light and there's no sign of any fog, patchy or otherwise."

"So," Sam said, his smile broadening. "Still don't think this is our thing?"

Dean finished his coffee. "You win. Let's eat breakfast and then we'll hit the road. I'll make some bacon." He looked around. "We should bring Cas in on this one. Where is he?"

Sam froze. "No idea," he said carefully. "I haven't seen him since I got up." He sounded stiff and nervous but Dean didn't seem to notice his awkwardness, thankfully.

"Well, go find him. Disappearing assassins? Ghostly guns? I think we need an angel on our side."

* * *

Since Sam had woken up in Cas's room alone, a fact he had mixed feelings about, he decided the angel must have gone to the library to pick up where he left off in his research.

Sure enough, Cas was there. Sam's pulse ticked upwards as he observed the angel for a moment, a serious look on his face as he sorted through some photographs pulled from a manilla folder.

"Hey, uh, Cas?" Sam croaked. He cleared his throat and Cas looked up, his expression suddenly wary.

"Hello, Sam," he said. He looked around as though looking for something. "Were you looking for me?"

Sam felt his cheeks heat. "Uh, yeah. I… yeah." Great, he was a stammering idiot. "We… we have a case. I think it relates to what you're working on."

The wariness vanished, replaced by interest. "Really?"

"Well, maybe." Sam summarized the case and the angel's face became almost eager.

"Yes, I think you're right," he said. "I should join you."

"Great," Sam said enthusiastically. He should go and pack, but instead he just stood there. Cas raised an eyebrow at him and he almost melted on the spot.

"Was there something else?"

Sam wasn't sure what he had expected. But this… coolness was not it. Had he done something wrong? Had Cas decided it had been a terrible idea? Chagrined, he shook his head and turned to leave.

"Sam, wait," Cas said. Sam stopped moving. "I… I feel like I may have upset you."

"What? No, no, I'm fine," Sam denied.

"I would prefer it if you not lie to me." The angel's voice cracked out like a whip. Sam didn't know what to say. If he confessed that he'd hoped there would be more between them than a few hours of admittedly wild and unexpectedly adventurous sex and Cas didn't feel the same, then things would get really uncomfortable. Cas shoved his chair back and came to stand in front of Sam, at a distance that was too close to seem entirely normal but somehow too far away to seem intimate.

"Sam, we've done something that alters our friendship, perhaps permanently. I… need time to process it." Sam nodded. Of course, he understood. Cas raised a shaking hand to Sam's face and the hunter realized that Cas wasn't nearly as sanguine as he'd appeared. His fingers skimmed Sam's cheek and he quivered.

"O-OK," he stuttered. Cas gave him a smile then and he felt himself relax.

"Food's up, you ready?" Dean said suddenly from the door. Sam jerked away from Cas and the angel's eyes were wide.

"Uh, no, I… gimme five minutes," Sam said, and fled. Dean raised his eyebrows at Cas.

"What's gotten into him?"

"I… don't know," Cas said, his voice squeaking unnaturally. Dean shook his head in confusion.  _Why was everyone being weird today?_

* * *

"I think this is a huge waste of your time, my time and taxpayers money, agents," Benton County Sheriff Wilt Haines said aggressively. He was a large man, like a football player gone to seed, with heavy jowls that quivered as he spoke. He was mostly bald on top, with the sides shaved close to his head.

"Our Division director wanted us to follow up on the case," Sam said soothingly. "We're not here to engage in any jurisdictional wrangling. This is still your investigation. There are some parallels to a case in Missouri, but we think they're coincidental. Nevertheless, we need to be sure."

"You had a phantom sniper up there too?" Haines said, his hostility dropped a little.

"I'm sorry," Sam said, giving him an apologetic smile. "I can't discuss that case with you, I'm afraid."

Haines looked irritated but he nodded. "All right. I can let you have a copy of the files. But that's the end of it, OK? I got work to do. Janice?"

A woman about ten years older than Sam, with graying brown hair in a messy bob appeared from a cubicle. "Sheriff?"

"Give these agents a copy of the Ridley file, will you?" Without another word, he strode off towards the exit. Janice's eyes narrowed.

"The Ridley file? Wait here, I'll make a copy." She bustled off to a room at the back of the station, muttering darkly to herself.

Dean gave Sam a long suffering look. "One day, it'd be nice if someone didn't make a fuss about us being here."

"In your dreams," Sam said.

Cas leaned over, fixing Sam with a look that seemed entirely inappropriate given that Dean was sat right there, but his brother didn't seem to notice. "Something is wrong here," he said.

"Other than our ghostly shooter?" Sam said.

"Yes. It's…" Cas waved his hands expressively. "It's hard to explain. My celestial senses are picking up huge amounts of energy. Magical energy. I can't account for it."

"This is a nowhere city in the middle of Arkansas. Maybe your senses are on the fritz," Dean suggested. Cas glared at him. "Hey, don't shoot the messenger."

"My senses are not 'on the fritz'," Cas informed him loftily. "Something is going on here."

Sam squeezed Cas's knee and gave Dean a look. "Well, that's why we're here," he said. Dean looked down at Sam's hand on the angel's leg, his eyebrows diving over his nose. Sam snatched his hand away.

"Here you are," Janice said, thrusting a manila folder at Sam. "That's all we have."

"Thank you," he said, standing and offering his hand. She looked at it like it was roadkill, and then walked back to her cubicle. Sam dropped his hand and frowned. "OK, looks like we've outstayed our welcome," he commented, before heading for the door.

* * *

The West Pauline Whitaker Parkway overpass crossed I-49 near a large shopping mall complex and looked relatively new. Wide sidewalks provided pedestrians with an easy way to walk from the large Walmart on the other side of the interstate, if anyone wanted to do so. Ornate black lamps were positioned at regular intervals along the road. The barrier at the edge of the bridge was not very high, which is why the traffic camera had gotten such a good view of the sniper. There was nothing that could potentially obscure the camera even for a moment.

"This is the direction the sniper was facing," Dean said, pointing southeast. "The way the road curves to the left means he didn't have much time to recognize the target car. I wonder why he chose this spot."

"There's only one other bridge besides this one that she passed on her normal commute," Sam said, reading the file. "And the other bridge doesn't have a sidewalk, so it would be more dangerous."

"Unless this really is a ghost and he haunts this bridge." Dean didn't look convinced by his own statement.

"The energy levels here are even higher than at the police station," Cas said suddenly.

"I don't suppose you get a sense of where the epicenter is?" Sam asked hopefully.

"I'm not a EMF meter," Cas retorted.

"Oh, right," Sam said, feeling stupid. He dug into his pocket and pulled out his EMF meter, switching it on. It began to scream at him. "Well, that answers that I guess." He walked across the bridge towards the mall but the meter's needle remained at maximum. Returning to the center of the bridge, he then walked towards the Walmart instead. Still the levels didn't change. He switched it off and returned to Cas and Dean who'd been watching him.

"I don't know if we're close to the center and it's big or whether there's just so much energy here it's maxing out the meter even if we're miles from the middle of it."

"I don't think there's much more we can learn here," Dean said. His phone buzzed and he looked at it, an irritated expression flitting across his face. "Let's go back to the motel and review the file."

"Sure," Sam agreed.

* * *

Sam spread all the documents out on his bed and gazed at them. Finally he picked up the ballistics report and handed it to Dean. "See anything unusual here?"

Dean glanced over it. "No."

"Look again."

Dean gave him a long suffering sigh. Sam didn't know what was bothering his brother, but he'd been antsy and on edge ever since they'd arrived in Rogers. "Wait. They think the rifle was a L42A1? They're pretty rare."

"Right," Sam said. "A British army rifle which is no longer in production. Maybe it's a clue?"

Dean rubbed a hand over his face. "Maybe. If we were actually federal agents investigating a homicide. But we're here to chase a ghost, remember?"

"Yeah. A ghost with a British-made gun." Sam shook his head. "You're right, we're getting off track. I still think it's interesting."

"What else you got?"

"Uh, eyewitness reports. Most people didn't see much. The other cars on the interstate that morning saw Ridley's car swerve but not the cause. One driver reported seeing someone on the bridge but all he really saw was a dark shape and he didn't see it disappear. There was traffic on the overpass too. Four people reported seeing a man standing on the bridge, but none of them said they saw any kind of gun. Remember, in the video, there was only one car passing when he fired the shot. But they haven't been able to track that person down."

"Damn."

"There's lots of forensics reports. Here's the autopsy. Death was instantaneous, single GSW to the chest, not much-" Sam broke off and Dean nudged him.

"What?" he prompted.

"Well, it looks like she was pregnant," Sam said.

"So?"

"So, she was unmarried and wasn't dating according to her mother and her friends," Sam said. "Now, that doesn't mean she didn't go out and have a one-night stand or maybe was dating someone but didn't tell anyone yet. But according to the autopsy, she was five months pregnant. Why hadn't anyone noticed?"

"Again, not really seeing a connection to an actual monster we can hunt," Dean reiterated. "We're not detectives."

"No," Sam said. "I don't know. I feel like I'm on the edge of something, I just can't figure out what."

"Did they include any photographs?" Cas said suddenly.

"Yeah, a few. Here."

Cas shook his head. "Of the fetus."

"What? No," Sam grimaced. "Why?"

"A theory," Cas said cryptically. "I think we should go and check out the body."

"Come on, man," Dean said. "Don't keep us in the dark."

"Look at these numbers," Cas said, pointing at the blood test results. "Very low iron, very low sodium. Dangerously low, even if she weren't carrying a child. Someone this anemic would have been quite ill with it. Unless…"

"Unless what?" Dean almost shouted.

"Unless the father was a demon."

"A demon baby?" Sam said, horrified. "Like Jesse?"

"Not quite," Cas said. "Jesse was a cambion, a kind of demonic version of the Immaculate Conception. A human woman was possessed by a demon and impregnated with Jesse that way. No mating was involved. This is different, a perversion of fertilization, a mockery of the natural order."

"Is that even possible?"

"Oh yes," Cas said. "It's uncommon, because being possessed typically reduces a number of human bodily functions, including sperm production." Sam choked and Dean gave him a strange look. "And even if fertilization and implantation successfully occurs, the demonic energy frequently mutates the fetus so much that it miscarries within the first week or two. A half-demon baby carried to term is really quite rare."

"Wow. Would this baby have survived, if it was a demon-spawn?" Dean asked.

"That's why I have to go see it for myself," Cas explained. "If Hell has figured out a way to make these pregnancies more viable, we need to know. Half-demons, when they have managed to survive, are utterly monstrous. Unlike full demons, they can't be exorcised or trapped by devil's traps and aren't as affected by salt, iron or holy water."

"Great. Please tell me they're not as powerful as a full demon either," Sam said.

"It depends on the sire," Cas said. "If the father was a low-rank demon, then his offspring would be lower powered. But if a Knight or a Prince were to father a child, that half-demon could easily be more powerful than a full low-rank demon."

"Awesome," Dean said sarcastically.

"Wait, you've talked about female humans and male demon-possessed hosts. What about the other way around?" Sam asked.

"I've never heard of such a thing," Cas told him. "Being possessed seems to block female fertility altogether, except in the cases of cambions as I described."

"Talk about extreme methods of contraception," Dean said. "OK, enough chit-chat. Let's hit up the morgue."


	6. Chapter 6

The pathologist on duty was a tall, blond haired man who looked more like a surfer than a doctor. His jaw was chiseled and sprinkled with a light dusting of stubble. He gave Sam a broad smile and a blatant up and down look. Cas glared at him.

"Hi, I'm Dr Carsen Martinson." He held out his hand for Sam to shake. His grip was firm and his hand was cool. "You must be the feds that got old Haines's panties in bunch." He shook Dean's hand and then turned to Cas, who pointedly ignored him. Shrugging, he continued. "You're here to see Heather Ridley, right?"

"Yes," Sam told him. "And, we understand she was pregnant?"

"Yeah," Dr Martinson said sadly. "Come see." He walked over to the gurney where Ridley's body was lying. Next to it, on a metal trolley, was a jar with a human fetus floating in formaldehyde.

"There she is."

"She? It's female then?" Sam said, peering at it. Cas stood next to him and examined it closely.

"Yeah." Sam straightened and listened as Dr Martinson summarized his autopsy findings.

"Was there anything you found that you didn't put in the report?" Sam asked. Martinson stiffened and his face was wary.

"Like what?"

"I don't know. I guess I was wondering how nobody knew she was having a baby."

"Well, I don't know how significant it is," Martinson hedged. "So I didn't highlight it in the report. But there's a birth control implant in her arm. From the serial number, I can tell it was inserted no more than a year ago. The implant's really reliable and for it to have failed… I don't know, it struck me as a little odd. But the manufacturer tells me occasional failures have occurred."

"Huh," Sam said. "Anything else?"

Now Martinson looked almost haunted. "Her pelvis is cracked."

"What? How did that happen?" Dean demanded.

"No idea. The shot couldn't have caused it, and although I wanted to put it down to how the car careened off the road when she was killed, the break is older than that. There's evidence of some healing. But she didn't have any reports in her medical record that she'd had a fall or anything else that could account for it." Martinson hunched his shoulders. "And there's one more thing." He gulped in air, his face a picture of misery. "Ms Ridley was single, and had no record of any prior pregnancies. But her body tells a different story. I'd say she'd given birth at least once before and probably more."

"OK," Sam said, more than little confused. "I guess I don't quite understand."

"It's why I didn't put it in the report," Martinson explained. "Her medical record is that of a woman who has never carried a child to term and has used constant long term birth control methods since she was nineteen. Her body tells us she has undergone one or more pregnancies. I can't square that circle."

"Could the medical record just be wrong?" Sam said.

"Unlikely," Martinson said. "She's lived here her whole life and been seeing the same OB/GYN since she was a teen. I called her doctor, to check, and she confirmed what the record said. If Ms Ridley had children, she didn't tell anyone, including her doctors."

Sam nodded, understanding. "We'll look into it," he said. "Maybe check adoption records."

Martinson pulled the sheet over Ridley's face. "Please do. I fear there's a tragic backstory to this woman's life. Incest, perhaps. Or some other hideous abuse." He looked a little sick and Sam couldn't help but agree.

"Thank you for your time," Dean said. They trooped out of the morgue, leaving the melancholy Dr Martinson to his thoughts.

Back at the car, Cas looked troubled. "I was right," he rumbled.

"Demon baby?" Dean asked. Cas nodded slowly.

"Gross," Sam commented. "OK, so how does this figure into why she was killed?"

"At a guess, I'd say her killer knew her pregnancy wasn't natural," the angel surmised. "And was concerned enough about it to deal with the problem, permanently. I wonder if her other pregnancies were also demon-spawn."

"You think she's been breeding with some demon for years?" Sam said weakly, the horror of the idea making him feel sick. "Is it likely to have been voluntary?"

"I couldn't say whether she was a willing participant," Cas told him sadly. "But the gestation time is shorter."

"How much shorter?" Dean asked.

"Demonic pregnancies are just over two months, rather than the human nine." Cas's face twisted with revulsion. "But carrying one to term is not common, as I think I already mentioned. Some scholars have theorized that only certain humans are capable of doing so. In which case, Ms Ridley would have been highly prized indeed. This may explain the signs of multiple pregnancies the pathologist noted."

Sam really did want to throw up then. Whether this young woman had agreed to this or not, it was grotesque.

"So if the baby grows faster than a human in the womb, what about when it's born?" Dean asked and Sam started. He sometimes forgot how smart Dean was.

"We don't have much information on that," Cas admitted. "We try and kill any demon-spawn as soon as we become aware of them. Their unnaturalness is like a beacon, any angel within a hundred miles of such a birth would be instantly aware of it. The oldest one I ever encountered was four years old and she was almost fully grown. The equivalent of perhaps sixteen or so in human terms."

"So, accelerated growth in the womb, and rapid development when born," Sam said, thinking through the information the angel had given them. "Martinson said she was five months pregnant, but that was based on human growth rates. So I guess she got pregnant five or six weeks ago?"

"Something like that," Dean agreed. "We should find out if her friends mentioned her dating or even a one night stand at the time."

As soon as they got back to the motel, Sam started working on trying to get some information about Heather Ridley's life. He wasn't a hacker like Charlie, but he had a few contacts who could get him most of the information he wanted. After making a few calls, he looked over at Dean who was frowning at his computer.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," Dean said with surprising honesty. "Crowley just emailed me an autopsy report of some guy in Tennessee."

"What, with no explanation?" Sam said curiously.

"I thought it would be easier to just show up," Crowley said. Sam and Dean both jumped in surprise.

"I wish you wouldn't do that," Dean complained. "How the Hell did you find us anyway?"

"If you haven't figured out by now that every demon in creation can recognize you on sight, there's really no hope for you," Crowley snarked.

"All right, what do you want?" Dean snapped. "Why send this autopsy report from some old guy who died from a heart attack when mowing his lawn?"

"That's the official explanation," Crowley told him.

"What's the unofficial explanation?" Sam asked, wondering if the King of Hell was going to make them drag the details out of him.

"His heart was missing. Hard to keep going without one."

"What, like a werewolf attack?" Sam said.

"If it was a bloody werewolf ripping his heart out, do you really think they would call it a heart attack?" Crowley barked.

"Hey," Dean said, placing a hand on his arm. "Calm down." Crowley looked witheringly down at his hand and then tugged his arm away.

"They had no idea what was going on until they cut him open," the demon said through gritted teeth. "They peeled back the ribcage and there was just a space where his heart used to be."

"Wow," Sam said.

"How is that possible?" Cas said. Sam turned to look at him. The angel had been sitting there so silently, hearing him speak was a shock.

"I don't know," Crowley said.

"Actually, a better question is, why do you care?" Dean said suspiciously. "It's weird, I'll give you that. And if one of us had found out about it, we'd maybe take a look. What's your interest?"

"Well, that's the reason I'm here," Crowley said. "Wayne Jeffries, the man who died, was the father of Heather Ridley."

"What?" Dean said, leaping to his feet. "What the Hell?"

"I thought that would get your attention," the demon said smugly.

"Wait, so when did this guy die?" Sam asked.

"Two days before his daughter," Crowley told him. "And guess what?"

Sam made a face at him. "Tell us."

"He was an army sniper. Highly decorated. Honorably discharged in 1983 after a munitions accident at a base in Germany left three men permanently disabled, Jeffries was one."

"A sniper…" Sam muttered, a cold feeling slithering down his spine.

"What do we know about his relationship with Heather?" Dean asked.

"Not friendly," Sam told him. "They hadn't spoken in over ten years. He disapproved of her life choices, whatever the Hell that means."

"Ah, that I can tell you," Crowley interjected. "He was an old-fashioned sort, thought women should get married and have babies, not go to college and have careers."

Sam's head began to ache. "Babies," he repeated.

Crowley gave him an odd look. "Are you having some kind of malfunction?"

"No. The pathologist told us something strange. Heather was supposed to have been on birth control, but she was pregnant when she died and apparently it wasn't her first baby. But nobody in her life, her mom, her sisters, her friends or even her doctor knew. And Cas confirmed this fetus was demonic."

"Wait a second, Sam," Dean said. "Are you suggesting that the ghost of Heather Ridley's father murdered her because she wasn't married and having babies? If that's how he felt, why would he murder her if she was pregnant? He couldn't know it wasn't human, surely."

Crowley was staring at Sam with undisguised horror. He made no sign that he'd even heard what Dean had said.

"Say that again!" he demanded finally.

"Say what?" Sam asked, confused.

"Demon-spawn!" Crowley spat. "You said she was carrying a half-demon child!"

"Yes," Cas said.

"Feathers, you had better be certain about this," Crowley said. Dean's expression briefly transformed into a snarl and Sam had to blink a few times, but his face had blanked almost immediately afterwards. The King of Hell's casual nickname for Cas had been a bit unexpected, but Dean had looked positively savage. Odd.

"I am," Cas said calmly. "The signs were unmistakable."

"Any idea on the rank of the father?"

"Knight or Prince, I would think," Cas mused. "Definitely not from the lower ranks."

"This is bad," Crowley said, looking distressed.

"I know why we think so," Sam said cautiously. "But you are the king of Hell. Why do you care?"

"Half-demons are a nightmare," Crowley said acidly. "Pompous, overbearing jerks, the lot of them. And all the Knights are dead. Except you, of course." He cast a smoldering look at Dean and Sam's eyes widened.

"I don't count," Dean said easily, ignoring the demon's suddenly flirtatious manner. "I'm cured."

"Exactly," Crowley agreed. "Which means the spawn of a Prince. It's a disaster."

"I never even heard of Princes of Hell," Dean complained.

"You should," Crowley said easily. "You killed one, after all."

"I did?" Dean said, gaping at him. He closed his mouth and preened. "I mean, of course I did. Uh, who was that again?"

"Azazel."

"He was a Prince of Hell?" Sam asked.

"Yes. He became ruler when Lucifer was imprisoned. When you killed him, I had to deliver the crown to the next in line, but he didn't want it. Long story short, the other Princes had no interest in ruling Hell, which left the path clear for yours truly." Crowley buffed his fingernails on his jacket.

"OK, so let's back up a bit," Sam suggested. "Heather Ridley was pregnant with the child of a Prince of Hell. And it wasn't her first pregnancy. Cas, is there any chance her other pregnancies were also demon-spawn?"

"Let's hope not," the angel said laconically. "I don't know for sure. If Heaven had encountered any and destroyed them, I might have heard about it but Heaven doesn't exactly go out of it's way to keep me in the loop."

"And we think that her father dies in some inexplicable way, finds out his daughter is carrying a half-demon child and then somehow manages to shoot her with a ghostly rifle? How does any of this come close to making sense?" Dean started pacing back and forth in irritation.

"As a ghost, he might have been able to sense the baby's inhuman nature," Cas said. "Maybe he came to see his daughter to get closure and when he realized what was happening, decided to take matters into his own hands."

"Which still doesn't explain who or what killed him or how he was able to manifest a freaking rifle!" Dean exploded. Crowley eyed him for a moment.

"Not to mention how he traveled here from his home in Tennessee," Sam added.

"Well, a box of his belongings was sent to his daughter from the funeral home," Crowley said.

Dean's head came up. "That's it. He must have been attached to something in that box."

Sam shook his head. "OK, but why the elaborate sniping from the overpass? If he was in her home, why didn't he kill her there?"

"No idea," Dean said, defeated. "We need to find out more."

Sam straightened his tie and then took some time attempting to tame Cas's hair with a few deft touches. He was glad Dean had taken off with Crowley to pursue another lead, leaving him and Cas alone together. He smiled at the angel, and couldn't resist diving in for a swift kiss before turning and heading towards the house of one of Heather Ridley's friends.

The house was a modern, single-story brick and wood-clad construction, one of many near identical houses on this street. A basketball hoop stood on the driveway and a late-model silver Honda Civic was parked in the garage, the door wide open. A small boy, perhaps eight or nine years old, with curly brown hair and wide brown eyes was standing warily in the opening, staring at them.

"Hi," Sam said casually. "We're here to see your mom, I guess."

The boy didn't speak, he just nodded and turned and headed back inside. A moment later, a woman in her late thirties emerged, drying her hands on a towel. Her long curly brown hair and expressive brown eyes were just like her son's.

"Are you Agent Miller?" she asked.

"Yes," Sam said. "And this is my associate, Agent Lewis." They flashed their badges briefly at her. "Miss Morgan?"

"And you want to talk about Heather," she said heavily. "Call me Merlyn." She shook both their hands and ushered them inside. "Would you like some lemonade?"

"That would be great," Sam said. She pulled a large jug from the fridge and poured out three glasses of homemade lemonade. Sam sipped at his gratefully.

"Obviously I want to do anything I can to catch the person who did this to Heather," Merlyn said. "But I don't know how I can be of any more help. I already told the police everything I know."

"Well, sometimes it can help to go over things. Maybe shake something else loose," Sam said.

"OK," she said doubtfully.

"You said Heather wasn't dating," Sam said, making a show of looking at a notebook in his hands.

"Right. She last broke up with a guy two years ago, just before Christmas. She was kinda heartbroken I guess, but she wouldn't say much about it. Just that he'd been cheating on her."

"I see," Sam said. "And nobody else since?"

"No. I tried to convince her to sign up for one of those internet dating apps, you know. I'm on a few and I've had some fun dates out of it. But she said she didn't like meeting people that way."

"What about more casual encounters?" Cas said and Merlyn bristled.

"Heather wasn't a slut, if that's what you're implying!"

Sam gave the angel a hard look and then returned his gaze to Merlyn. "No, he just meant maybe she met someone but it never went anywhere. Would she have talked to you about something like that?"

Merlyn frowned and Sam got the impression she was deciding whether to tell them something. Please, he thought. Please tell us.

"OK," she said. "There was a guy. About a year ago, she met him in Dallas when she was flying back from a nursing conference in Phoenix. Our airport here is quite small and you can only fly direct to a few cities. But the flight out of Phoenix was delayed and she missed her connection, so she had to spend the night. She met a man who had also missed the same flight, I think she said his name was Andrew. She said nothing happened, they had a few drinks and exchanged phone numbers. But she never mentioned him again and when I asked if he'd ever called, she said he hadn't."

"That's all you know about him?" Sam pressed gently. Merlyn nodded. "We'll find out if his number is still in her phone. That could be a lead. Thank you."

Merlyn still looked troubled and Cas laid one hand on her arm. "Is there something else?"

"I don't know," she said. "It's…" She took a deep breath. "Heather hasn't been real well recently. She's always been pretty robust, but this past year she's had more days off sick than I can remember in twenty years of knowing her. Nothing specific, stomach flu or a bad cold, things like that. Infectious stuff that you can't have near the patients. The hospital is really strict about not coming in if you think you might have anything communicable." She shook her head. "But, I got the impression that something else was going on. She'd call in sick but when I called on her, she wasn't at home. And she wouldn't answer her cell either."

Merlyn's son appeared in the doorway and she got up. "Do you want a drink, honey?"

"Yeah," the boy said, eying Cas nervously. He seemed really spooked by the angel's presence.

"Well, I think that's everything," Sam said. He got up. "Thank you for talking with us."

Merlyn turned around. "You have to find who did this. Heather was a great person and she didn't deserve to die. She should at least have justice."

"We're doing all we can," Sam promised vaguely.

She rolled her eyes. "That's what you all say."


	7. Chapter 7

Crowley was crouched down on his haunches, moving his hands carefully over the ground. Dean watched him in bemusement and tried not to notice the way Crowley was presenting his backside to him in a provocative manner. He was just trying to get a rise out of Dean, so to speak.

Shaking off the errant thoughts, he inhaled sharply and tried to focus. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"Castiel said there was a lot of energy here," Crowley said, not looking up. "He wasn't joking." The demon seemed to be almost quivering as he moved.

"Yeah," Dean said, remembering the angel's irritation. "Cas said he couldn't find the source of it. We tried to find the center of it with the EMF but it kept burying the needle."

"I'm a bit more sophisticated than an EMF," Crowley told him smugly.

"I know," Dean said. That did make the demon look up and eye him speculatively. "Do you have any ideas about what's going on here?"

"A few. None of them good," Crowley admitted. He stood up and brushed some dead leaves from his hands, his face drawn with concern. It was not a typical look for him, and it made Dean feel uncomfortable. Anything that had Crowley this worried couldn't be good.

"Care to share with the class?" He tried to maintain a casual demeanor and shake off his reaction to Crowley's mood, or at least conceal it from the demon king. He wasn't sure he was successful.

"The center of the energy isn't here, but it's close," Crowley said as he looked around. "It's fading but still quite strong. I would wager that the epicenter is Heather Ridley's house."

"I guess a spot of burglarizing is on the cards for tonight then," Dean said, raising his eyebrows. "We've a few hours until sundown. How about we go get a drink?"

"Well," Crowley said rubbing his hands together with a wolfish grin. "I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

"We should leave," the angel said, nodding towards the house. Merlyn's child was standing at the window staring at them, his eyes huge and staring.

"What's the deal with that kid?" Sam asked, oddly perturbed by the intensity of the boy's gaze.

"I suspect he can sense I'm not human," Cas said easily. "He has some latent psychic ability."

"Is he dangerous?" Sam asked carefully, feeling almost like he was betraying the kid somehow.

"No," the angel said, shaking his head. "He's a clairvoyant, a weak one. He'll probably never manifest beyond some strange feelings and odd dreams."

Nonetheless, Sam was unnerved. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out and answered it with a grunt.

"Sam, Crowley thinks the center of the energy we detected on the bridge is Ridley's home," Dean said without preamble. "We're gonna go check it out tonight."

"OK," Sam said, not missing the fact that he didn't seem to be included in that adventure. He summarized the conversation he'd had with Merlyn Morgan, omitting only the part about her clairvoyant son. Dean was not as bad as he used to be, but psychic abilities still gave him the heeby-jeebies and Sam figured what his brother didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

"Taking a lot of sick leave, huh?" Dean said when he'd finished. "It fits with the idea of her having more than one pregnancy."

"Right," Sam agreed, his stomach roiling. No matter what the conclusion of this case was, he had a feeling it was going to haunt him for a long time and ghosts like these couldn't be banished with salt and fire. "And we have a lead on a possible one night stand. We only have a first name but his number might be in Ridley's phone. Cas and I are gonna go back to the police station to look at it now."

"OK, good," Dean said. "Call me when you have something." He hung up. Sam frowned at his phone in vexation.

"Is something wrong?" Cas asked at the look on his face.

"Dean hung up on me," Sam said. He climbed into the car and turned the engine over. Cas sat in the passenger seat and they drove away, back towards the police department.

Luckily, Sheriff Haines wasn't around when they returned and the surly Janice seemed to have cheered up some.

"Her personal belongings are all in a box on my desk," she told them in response to Sam's question. "Come take a look."

Sure enough, a four-year old iPhone with a bright orange case was sitting at the bottom of the box. It wouldn't switch on, making Sam think the battery might be dead.

"Did anyone analyze the data on this thing?" Sam asked as he rummaged through the box looking for the charger.

"Not really," she said. "We downloaded the phone numbers and her email of course. But none of that fancy shit you Feds can do, like tracking where she'd been."

"Was there a number for someone called Andrew?" Sam asked, giving up his search.

"Lemme see," she said. She clicked a folder on her computer and brought up the list of numbers. "Yes. Here it is. 406-555-8927."

"406?" Sam said, recognizing the area code. "That's Montana." That didn't really square with any of the other information they'd gathered.

"If you say so," Janice said in a bored tone.

"What about emails? Were any of them from Andrew?" Cas asked. Sam gave him a pleased look. The angel was certainly picking up his investigative technique.

Janice gave him a long suffering look before going back to her computer and searching the email folder. "Yes, there's a bunch actually. You want me to print them out?"

"Please," Sam said.

She sighed and pointed at the printer in the corner. "They'll be over there. Will that be all?"

"Yes," Sam said. "Thank you."

She shrugged. "Whatever."

* * *

"Castiel seems… different," Crowley said after finishing his second glass of bourbon. The bar was not a complete dive, but Dean still felt a little conspicuous. There were a group of rough looking guys at the pool table who had given Crowley's neat suit and tie more than one curious look.

"He does?" Dean responded to Crowley's observation, confused and slightly wary. He hadn't noticed anything in particular that had changed. Cas was just Cas. He signalled to the barman for a refill.

"Yes. I can't put my finger on it." The demon shook his head as if to dismiss the thought. "And how have you been? Did you miss me?" He gave Dean a sultry look that the hunter couldn't look away from.

His temper flared and he turned his gaze to a glare. "Do you always have to ask me that? You already know the answer."

A slow smile spread over Crowley's face. "It makes you uncomfortable, so yeah."

"Fuck you," Dean said, without as much heat as he might have liked. He turned away and concentrated on his drink. This case was going to be the death of him. Unable to resist, he flicked his gaze back to Crowley. The demon's smile got broader.

"Anytime, sweetheart." He raked Dean with a bold glance and Dean swallowed.

"Not interested," he lied, trying to push away the memories Crowley was deliberately trying to conjure. "Can we get back to talking about the case?"

"You'll come around," Crowley said, shrugging. He leaned back on his chair. "What did you want to talk about?"

"You seem very upset about the idea of a half-demon being born." Dean said, changing the subject.

"I am," Crowley agreed, letting Dean off the hook without comment. He held up his finger. "Firstly, any such spawn would be a challenger to my throne," Another finger joined the first. "Secondly, the last half-demon to walk the earth managed to cause considerable trouble."

"When was that?" Dean asked. That sounded like a story and he always enjoyed Crowley's yarn-spinning, even if he hated to admit it.

"It's a long story," the demon warned.

"We've got time," Dean said. "Spill."

"OK, OK," Crowley said. "It was about fifty or sixty years ago. After Abaddon destroyed the Men of Letters but before Azazel's mad plan with the special children. You know that you and Sam were always meant to be born, to be the vessels, right?"

"Yes," Dean said. "Heaven invested a lot of time into shaping our bloodline according to Cas."

"Well, Azazel thought maybe he could augment the process. He scoured the earth for women capable of bearing a child with him and eventually found one. She gave him a son and he was quite the monster, believe me. Of course, Azazel couldn't control him, and he murdered any number of humans in a blood-soaked rampage across South America." Crowley's mouth had turned down unhappily and Dean had to remind himself that the demon was not mourning those deaths but rather the attention they raised. "A contingent of angels was dispatched to destroy him. They harrowed Hell shortly afterwards, hoping to kill Azazel I expect. They didn't find him, but they did cause a lot of damage. Lucifer was most displeased. I myself lost three very good lieutenants."

Crowley's face was pensive, another unfamiliar expression. Today was full of those, it seemed. It occurred to Dean that even though they had known each other for years, he really didn't know or understand Crowley very well. He didn't like how sad that made him and he shook his head and considered the tale Crowley had told.

"Wow," Dean said finally. "I guess half-demons aren't good for business?"

"Definitely not," Crowley said. He looked irritated, as though Dean had somehow missed the point. "Well, the sun's set. You ready to check out the Ridley house?"

"Sure," Dean said, downing the last of his bourbon. "Let's go."

* * *

Sam lay back on his bed and sighed as Cas covered his mouth with his own. The angel was methodical and almost clinical in his exploration of Sam's body, his nimble fingers cleverly divesting Sam of his clothing.

"Cas," Sam gasped as the angel moved from his mouth to his neck. "Dean and Crowley will be back any minute."

"Crowley won't show up unannounced," Cas muttered against his skin. He nibbled at a spot behind Sam's ear, making him arch with sensation.

"Why wouldn't he?" Sam managed. "He usually does."

"You think we could keep this a secret from the King of Hell?" the angel said curiously, not stopping as he mouthed his way across Sam's chest. Sam shivered in anticipation. "But he has his own agenda tonight."

"What… does… that mean?"

Cas did lift his head then. "Crowley's keen to rekindle his romance with your brother."

"What! Rekindle? Romance?" Sam spluttered and Cas sighed, a pained look on his face.

"When Dean spent time as a Knight of Hell, he and Crowley were… intimate," the angel said delicately. "Are you really surprised by this revelation?"

Sam's face twisted as he considered Cas's words. He'd wondered if there had been something going on between them even before Dean had turned into a demon. "I guess not. My brother's a goddamn hypocrite."

"You'll get no argument from me," Cas told him. He cocked an eyebrow at Sam as if to ask for permission to continue. Sam smiled at him and Cas returned his attentions to Sam's stomach.

"We're supposed to be researching," Sam said weakly.

"I am researching," the angel said mildly. "I'm attempting to catalog the range of reactions of your body to my tongue."

Sam almost expired on the spot at the combination of Cas's cool tone and the odd eroticism of what he was saying. "Oh, well," he panted. "Carry on then."

* * *

Dean swore as the lockpick snapped in the lock, the third one this evening. Luck was not on his side tonight. Crowley had offered to get them into the house, but Dean was determined to show he was  _not_ surplus to requirements.

"I do wish you'd let me take you inside," Crowley purred in his ear. Dean shoved him away and muttered to himself under his breath.

"I've got this." He pulled out another pick and started again. It was not a complex or expensive lock, and new enough not to have seized. He had no idea why it was giving him so much trouble.

"Well, if you're going to be much longer, I might as well join the peep show back at your motel," Crowley said.

Dean whirled around and stared at him, the pick falling unnoticed to the ground with a metallic sound. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh please, don't tell me you haven't noticed," the demon chortled.

"Noticed what?" Dean grated, his fists clenching. Ugh, he was going to punch Crowley one of these days, king of Hell or not.

"Castiel and the Moose of course," Crowley said, looking delighted at Dean's anger. "F-U-C-K-I-N-G."

"Don't be ridiculous," Dean dismissed. But hadn't Cas admitted to kissing Sam, when under the influence of Rowena's spell? Maybe that had been more of a revelation of suppressed desires than the angel had been willing to admit to. It was a peculiar idea, but not as preposterous as he would like to pretend.

"I'm serious," Crowley said, waggling his eyebrows. "I could smell it. It's positively revolting."

Dean raised an eyebrow at him in surprise. "I'm not saying it's true, but even if it was, since when were you such a prude?"

"I'm not a prude," the demon said, seeming oddly defensive. "It's not the sex I object to, it's the luurrve." Crowley was hamming it up, making a gesture like a beating heart jumping out of his chest. It was so over the top it made Dean suspicious, but he couldn't say exactly why.

"Gimme a break," Dean said, rolling his eyes. He snagged the fallen lockpick from the ground and turned his attention back to the lock. He had to bite his lip when it broke.

"All right, enough," Crowley said and clicked his fingers. The lock turned with a snap. Dean glared at him resentfully and then opened the door.

Ms Ridley had not had much flair for interior decoration. The walls were painted a plain, light green and the pictures on the walls were cheaply framed, mostly famous photographs of major world cities. The kitchen was clean and the fridge contained only orange juice, eggs and a block of cheese. Dean doubted much cooking had actually happened in there.

The lounge was small, with an overstuffed cream couch, a matching cream and brown rug that looked quite new and a huge TV screen dominated one wall. Shelves and shelves of DVDs and Blurays were carefully lined up in some hard to discern order. TV shows, movies and documentaries all seemed to be clustered together, but Dean couldn't figure out how Heather had determined which ones went where.

Upstairs was similarly dull. The bathroom was neat, bottles of shampoo and conditioner lined up on the side of the tub and the small cabinet was devoid of anything stronger than Tylenol and cotton buds. Her bedroom however was markedly different. Crowley's nose flared the moment they entered and Dean gagged at the smell of sex and old blood.

"Jesus," he mumbled through the sleeve of his jacket.

"Not quite," Crowley said. The bed was soaked in blood, right through to the mattress. It also trailed across the floor and into the closet. In the closet, the smell of decomposition was added to the mix. A small pile of what Dean had taken to be clothes turned out to be decaying flesh. Nausea swept over him in a wave.

"Stillborn fetuses," Crowley announced after a cursory glance. "Too early in gestation to be viable."

"Gross," Dean said, turning his head away. "Why keep them in here?"

"Beats me," the demon said.

"Well, I guess that answers some of our questions," Dean said feebly. He feared he might have that smell in his nose for days. "Have you got a lock on where the energy is coming from?"

"It's the bedroom," Crowley said. He shook his head, seeming almost bemused. "There's a convergence of ley lines right under this house. Someone, or something, was tapping into those lines. Feeding them. Drawing from them."

"Ley lines, huh?" Dean said. His head was spinning from trying not to breathe. "Look, can we get out of here?"

"Sure," Crowley said, heading back to the staircase. Dean followed quickly. Back on the first floor, he breathed in and out a few times.

"Better?" Crowley asked, placing one hand on Dean's shoulder in apparent concern.

"Yeah," Dean told him, shrugging him off. "Man, that was… awful."

"Anything else we can learn here?" Crowley's eyes were intent on Dean, almost as if he were… concerned. Which was ridiculous.

"I doubt it," Dean said sourly. "I need another drink."

"Your wish is my command," Crowley said and snapped his fingers.

The fresh air of the parking lot outside the bar hit Dean like a freight train. He looked around as he tried to steady himself, and saw the Impala parked beside him. He blinked in surprise and then leaned on her for support.

"Why did you bring us here?" he asked. It was late and he'd assumed they'd return to the motel and crack open the bourbon.

"To save you the sight of your brother's bare arse," Crowley said succinctly. "And the angel currently plowing it."

"For fuck's sake," Dean growled. "You can't possibly know that."

Crowley twinkled at him. "Oh yes I can." He canted an eyebrow at Dean. "Who knew the Moose was a bottom?"

Dean covered his face with his hands. "Please. Stop."

"All right," Crowley said, taking pity on him. "Come on, let's go get hammered and forget all about it."

"Promise you won't try and screw me in a back alley later when I'm too drunk to say no?"

"As if I would," Crowley said, his face the picture of innocence. Dean knew better, but it didn't stop him following the demon into the bar.


	8. Chapter 8

"We really do need to look through those emails," Cas said into the crook of his neck. Sam sighed but he was right. He sat up and turned to snag the printouts from the nightstand and handed half the pile to the angel. He dropped a quick kiss onto Cas's lips and then started to read.

Of the emails Janice had printed out for them, only a few were of real interest. Most were short conversations back and forth, arranging to meet at her house or at a bar. A few were longer and contained details that made Sam's throat hurt. According to those emails, Heather had suffered three miscarriages, almost back to back. The cruelty of Andrew's insistence that they keep trying, and Heather's weak pushback made him want to weep. He couldn't understand it, she was clearly head over heels in love with the guy but he treated her very badly and was borderline abusive at times.

There was no indication however that she had any idea he was a demon. But if he was the father of the babies she'd carried, then he had to be. From what she wrote about wanting to meet his family and visit his workplace, he clearly was spinning a tale of a normal human life. Sam could have been amused at his claim to be a psychiatrist, were the evidence of manipulation and gaslighting not so blatant.

"This is depressing," he said after an hour of reading.

"Agreed," the angel said. "Are you hungry? We could go and get you something to eat, take a break?"

"Good idea," Sam said. "I'll call Dean, see if he wants to meet us."

Cas gave him an amused look but didn't say anything. Sam ignored him.

Dean felt his phone ring against his hip and yanked it out of his pants pocket. "Yeah?"

"Dean, how did you get on at the house?" Sam's voice sounded strange, but Dean wasn't sure he could trust his own senses right now. The scene at the Ridley house still haunted him.

"It was bad," Dean said shortly. "She had a bunch of miscarriages, just piled the corpses in a corner." His gorge rose and he fought off the urge to vomit.

"Jesus," Sam said with feeling. "Are you OK?"

"I'm fine," Dean dismissed. "Did you and Cas get anywhere?"

"We got a number for a guy Heather may or may not have been dating. It's a Montana number, no idea if that's significant. I tried calling but it went straight to voicemail. We got some emails she exchanged with him and it paints a pretty dark picture. He was a piece of work, demon or not."

"So what now?" Dean asked. "The ghost of Heather's dad hasn't shown up again. Maybe he did what he felt he had to do and moved on."

"I don't think so," Sam said. "I've got a bad feeling he's still out there somewhere. Where are you? I can come and meet you."

"We're in a bar not far from Heather's house," Dean said. He gave Sam the address. "Let's discuss our next move when you get here."

Dean watched Sam and Cas as they entered the bar, looking for any sign that there was something going on between them. But they seemed normal, except perhaps for a slight smile on Sam's face that didn't mean anything really.

"So, what now?" he asked as they approached the table.

"I've been thinking about that. Crowley, you said you could detect the energy at the bridge, right?"

"Yes," the demon said, his face unusually serious. "There's a convergence of ley lines under Heather Ridley's house. Someone has been using it either to charge the lines or draw from them. I'm not sure which."

"I can guess why someone might draw from the lines, to boost the power of spells," Sam said, his face twisting with thought. "Why charge them, and why can't you tell the difference?"

Crowley looked irritated and he let out a heavy sigh. "Must you be so impossibly dense? I can't tell the difference because I'm not stupid enough to jack into a ley line hotspot. They're unpredictable things at the best of times. But if I  _were_  stupid enough or desperate enough to do so, then I'd be doing it to force power into the lines in order to pool power in one place. To open a portal between worlds."

"A portal?" Dean said, his stomach flipping over. He did not like the sound of that at all. "To where?"

"No idea," Crowley admitted. "But we can rule out Hell I think, there are other, easier ways in and out. Could be Heaven of course. Or Purgatory. Maybe even Oz. Or one of the other myriad planes out there."

"Great," Dean said. "Just what we need."

Sam looked worriedly at Cas. "Is there any chance this is related to the Darkness?"

"I doubt it," the angel rumbled, his gaze warm and steady on Sam. Dean's throat went dry, the look on Cas's face was unmistakeable. Crowley wasn't making this up, dammit! He wondered if Sam knew what he was getting into.

"Sam, can I have a word?" he said suddenly. Sam gave him a curious glance but nodded and followed Dean into the restrooms.

"So," Dean said, leaning casually against the single sink. Sam wasn't fooled, Dean was about to speak his mind on something. "You and Cas, huh?"

Sam gulped. Fuck, had they really been that indiscreet? He cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"I'll take that as a yes," Dean said as Sam struggled to form coherent thoughts. "I thought Crowley was just yanking my chain but then I saw the way Cas was looking at you. And I already know about what happened with Rowena's attack dog spell."

Sam gaped at him in shock and horror. "I didn't know you'd seen that."

"What? No. Cas told me about it."

A feeling very like betrayal swept through Sam. "He told you?" he grated.

"Don't be a bitch about it," Dean told him, accurately judging his mood. "He was upset and I asked what was wrong. Next thing I know I'm getting a blow by blow account. I didn't want to get involved."

"You didn't… offer any advice, did you?" Sam asked faintly.

"Of course," his brother said blithely. Sam felt nauseous. Dean had advised Cas on how to seduce him? "I told him to give you time, that you'd forgive him eventually."

Sam staggered with relief. "Oh."

"So, here's how it's going to be. You two go do what you have to do. I don't want to hear about it. No drama, OK?" Dean's jaw jutted pugnaciously.

Sam smiled at him. "You got it."

* * *

"So," Crowley said expansively. "What's next?"

"Can we check out Ridley's car?" Sam asked.

Dean frowned. "You think the ghost is attached to something in her car? How would that work?"

"I don't know, Dean, but so far all we've got is a bunch of weird stuff that doesn't quite fit together," Sam said in frustration.

"We can ask Haines tomorrow," he said. "Anything else?"

"I'm going to put out some feelers down below," Crowley said with a smirk. Dean elbowed him in the ribs and glared at him. "We have to find out which of the Princes is behind this."

"OK," Sam said. "So how come the police report doesn't mention the state of Ridley's house?"

"Enchantment," Crowley said. "There was a very strong spell on that house meant to deter anyone from entering." He gave Dean a significant look. "It's why you were having performance issues, darling."

Dean snarled at him. "I broke a couple lock picks. It happens."

"Not to you, it doesn't," Sam commented. "I'm surprised you didn't realize something was going on."

"I was distracted," Dean defended.

"I am  _very_  distracting," Crowley agreed modestly.

"Spare me," Sam drawled. "So what, the police just skimmed over procedure because of a spell?"

"Some spells are very powerful," Cas said quietly. Sam carefully squeezed his hand under the table.

"Well, if we're off the clock," Dean said hopefully. "I'm gonna have another beer. Sam?"

"No, thanks," Sam said. He yawned a little theatrically. "I'm beat. Try not to make too much noise when you come in." He got up and looked as casually as he could manage at Cas. "Are you coming back to the motel?"

"Yes," the angel decided. "I have more research I wish to do." Sam almost swallowed his tongue but Dean and Crowley seemed to find the comment unremarkable.

"OK, uh, good night," he said and nodding to Crowley, he left the bar, Cas trailing in his wake.

* * *

"You're no fun," Crowley complained as Dean left the bar.

"Whatever," Dean said. "I'm going to bed. To sleep."

"Come on, don't be like that."

Dean whirled around, fixing the demon with an angry look. "Like what? Just stop, will you? We had a thing. It's done."

"That's what you say but I can see the look in your eyes," Crowley declared, following him across the parking lot.

"Forget what you think you see in my Goddamn eyes, Crowley. I mean it." Dean reached the Impala and leaned against the driver's door, his arms folded. "It's not that I'm not grateful for your help on this case, I am."

"Are you friendzoning me?" Crowley said incredulously.

"No," Dean said tiredly. "We're not friends. We're… I don't know what the Hell we are. I'm sorry. But enough, OK?"

Crowley held his hands up. "All right, you win. For now."

Dean squinted at him suspiciously. "Good night, Crowley."

"Sleep well," the demon said grandly. "Dream a little of me, if you can." And then he vanished.

Dean rolled his eyes and climbed into the car.

* * *

Sam blinked awake, the room much brighter than he expected. What time was it? He rolled over and picked up his phone, startled by the time that gleamed on the screen. It was after 10am. Why hadn't anyone woken him?

He rubbed his hands over his face and staggered out of bed. On the table was a note.

_Cas and me are checking out Ridley's car. Go back to the house. We'll meet you there._

Sam's mouth twisted in irritation. Would it have killed them to wake him up? He sighed and entered the bathroom, taking a quick shower and brushing his teeth before heading out the door. Of course, Dean had taken the car so he'd have to walk. Luckily it wasn't too far and the exercise cleared his head.

Heather Ridley's house was a fairly bland affair, so the sense of dread that seemed to emanate from it seemed somewhat incongruous. Sam wasn't sure if he was just projecting from the rather vivid description Dean and Crowley had given him yesterday of their findings inside. He took a couple of pictures and was just about to head indoors when he heard someone calling out to him.

"Hey, you! Yes, you, you Goddamn vulture!" Sam raised his eyebrows at the woman who had come out of a house opposite Heather's. She was in her late forties, and dressed as if out running.

"Uh, can I help you?" he said.

"Get out of here," she insisted.

"Ma'am," he said patiently, fishing out his ID. "I'm with the FBI."

She squinted at it suspiciously. "So you're not a journalist."

"No, ma'am. Did you know Ms Ridley?"

The woman folded her arms and glared at him. "I'm her neighbor, aren't I? Loretta Scott, I live at 2420." She pointed unnecessarily to the house she'd just come out of.

"I see. Were you and Ms Ridley close?" Sam pulled out a notebook and began writing.

"We were friendly," Loretta said. "I used to walk her dog sometimes when her shift overran at the hospital."

Sam blinked at her. "We didn't know she had a dog."

"Well, she doesn't anymore," Loretta said sadly. "He died a few weeks ago. It was all very mysterious."

"Mysterious?" Sam prompted.

"Toby was a golden retriever," Loretta said. "Nice dogs, but not the sort of dog people steal, if you know what I mean."

Sam just looked at her, baffled. "Someone stole him?"

"Kidnapped him, yes. Or dognapped. Whatever. Demanded she hand over fifty thousand dollars or she'd never see him again. Well, I mean, it was outrageous. And ridiculous, Heather didn't have that kind of money."

"So what happened? Did she call the police?"

"No," Loretta said, shaking her head. "Her boyfriend got involved. Said he would 'handle it' whatever that meant. I thought maybe he was the real target. But something must have gone wrong because the next thing I know, Toby's lying dead on her porch and Heather's almost hysterical."

"But she never reported this to anyone?" Sam made a note to ask the sheriff about it.

"Not as far as I know." Loretta said. "Andrew said the police wouldn't be able to do anything about it."

"Andrew?"

"Oh, Heather's boyfriend. They were a bit on and off, I think. And he traveled a lot for work so I didn't see him much. Haven't you spoken with him?" Loretta began to look suspicious again.

"The only number we have for him was in Heather's cell and we've left several messages," Sam told her. "But he hasn't called us back."

"Well, that's Andrew for you. I have his card somewhere, maybe you could call his work?" She pulled her wallet out of her pocket and began rifling through it. "Here it is." She handed Sam an expensive-looking cream card with navy blue writing.  _Andrew Davidson MD._  It listed office numbers and an address.

"This is really helpful," Sam told her and Loretta preened.

"Well, I have to go on my run," she said. And with a little wave, she turned and went back to her house.

Sam called up the map on his phone and looked up Andrew Davidson's office address on South Pinnacle Hills Parkway. When he saw the location he almost dropped his phone, before swearing and calling Dean.

* * *

"What are we looking for?" Cas asked as he opened the trunk of Heather Ridley's car.

"I'm not sure," Dean admitted. "Maybe something that will help us track down Heather's boyfriend."

The angel wrinkled his nose. "This car reeks of demonic essence," he complained.

"Well, if this guy is a demon, that's not a surprise, right?" Dean said. He eyed the windscreen with a grimace, the crazing of the glass around the single bullet hole making him shake his head.

"Perhaps not," Cas said. "There are some very strange items in here, Dean."

"Oh?" Dean said with interest, coming around to see. Cas had found a box hidden under the spare wheel. One look at the contents and Dean exchanged a look with Cas. "Oh." He pulled out the ancient looking clay jug and pulled out the stopper, sniffing it tentatively. It had a strange, pungent odor that caught at the back of his throat. "Ugh, what is that?"

"Shemen Afarsimon," Cas said. "It's a ceremonial magic oil made from the persimmon tree."

"OK, what else? Some wood?"

"Olive," Cas said after a cursory glance. He held up a handful of candles and a notebook in which there were several Latin phrases and sketches of Enochian sigils.

"Dammit," Dean said with feeling. "Demon summoning ritual?"

"Yes," Cas said. "A specific demon, in fact." His mouth was turned down and his forehead wrinkled in thought.

"Don't keep me in suspense, man. Who was she summoning?"

"Asmodeus."

"The Prince of Hell?" Dean asked. "Damn, Cas, did we get this all wrong? Did she summon this thing and bring all of this on herself?"

"I don't know," Cas confessed. "But the emails with her lover, this Andrew person, made it sound like she was being manipulated. So perhaps he was the one who did the summoning ritual."

"Could Andrew be Asmodeus?"

"Of course," Cas said. "But he wouldn't need to summon himself, would he?"

"No," Dean said. "I guess not." His phone rang and he answered it when he saw Sam's number.

"Hey, Sam, what's up?"

"Dean, I just met one of Heather's neighbors and she gave me Heather's boyfriend's business card. You'll never guess where his office is."

"Is it near where she got shot?" Dean asked sharply.

"Bingo. Just the other side of the bridge. That can't be coincidence, Dean. He's involved. He has to be."

"All right, well we just found a bunch of demon summoning stuff in Heather's trunk," Dean said. "Are you still at Heather's house?"

"Yeah," Sam said. "I haven't been inside."

"OK, we'll swing by and pick you up."


	9. Chapter 9

The office building was quite new if rather bland and to the casual passer-by it probably seemed entirely unremarkable. But as Sam and Dean approached the door, Cas gasped.

"What is it?" sam said, one hand on Cas's arm.

"There are anti-angel wardings on this building," the angel said. "I can't go in."

"Damn it," Dean said. "I guess that means someone was expecting us." He wandered over to the building. There was a hessian rug in front of the door with a strange symbol on it. Dean peered at it and beckoned Sam over to take a look.

"What is that?" Sam asked.

"It's the sigil of Asmodeus," a voice drawled behind them. Sam whirled around to see Crowley leaning insouciantly against the Impala.

"Crowley," Dean grunted. "Where have you been?"

"Just a little investigating of my own," Crowley said. "I think we've all come to the same conclusion, haven't we?"

"Maybe," Dean allowed. "We're still not sure if Andrew Davidson is Asmodeus or if he just summoned him."

"Ah, well, that's where I'm a step ahead," Crowley said, looking pleased. "Davidson invited Ash here, and offered himself as a meatsuit."

"Ash?" Dean said, looking unhappy at the nickname. Crowley looked amused at his expression. "Why would he do that?" The demon shrugged, but something around his eyes told Sam that he was not pleased to be in the dark.

"How do you know?" Sam asked.

"He and Dagon have something of a longstanding rivalry. Turns out she keeps tabs on him. She was only too happy to spill the beans." Crowley grinned and put his hand in his pocket, drawing out a scrap of parchment. "And she even supplied me with a banishment ritual."

"Can't we just gank him?" Dean snarled.

"Darling, as much as I enjoy your bloodthirsty side, no. Killing Ash, or any Prince of Hell is no easy task as well you know. Ruby's old knife certainly won't do the trick. How long did you have to hunt Azazel before you could put him down?" Crowley's eyes were bright as he waved the parchment at Dean. "But this will send him screaming back to the lowest levels of Hell, and it will take him some time to crawl back out."

"Fine," Dean said sulkily, snatching the parchment out of Crowley's hands. "What else do we need?"

"Nothing exotic," Crowley said. "Devil's Trap, some holy water. Juniper berries if you can get them but they aren't essential."

"We have some dried ones in the car," Sam reminded his brother.

"Right," Dean peered in the office window and waved Sam over. "There's nobody in there."

"No," Crowley said. "I asked to meet him here in half an hour. That should be enough time, don't you think?"

"What?" Dean yelped. "Dammit, Crowley."

"Relax," the demon said. "It's all under control." He clicked his fingers and transported himself inside and then opened the door to let them in. Cas went back to the Impala with a troubled look on his face and Sam followed him. He opened the trunk and began to hunt for the juniper berries.

"Is everything all right," he muttered to Cas.

"No," the angel replied. "I don't like this. It's too neat and convenient. Crowley finds out what's going on, shows up with the exact spell we need at the precise moment we come to investigate this office. That's quite a coincidence and I don't trust coincidences where Crowley is involved."

"Me either," Sam agreed. "You think he's gonna double-cross us?"

"I don't know," Cas hissed in frustration. "That's the problem. I can't figure out what his angle is on this."

"Let's see how it plays out," Sam suggested. When Cas opened his mouth to object, he added, "I'll be careful. And if we can destroy those wards we will."

The angel huffed unhappily and Sam flicked his eyes to the office door. Dean and Crowley had obviously gone inside, so he took the opportunity to lay a quick kiss on Cas's lips. The angel cupped his jaw for a moment and then stepped back. Sam nodded and closed the trunk, hurrying back to Davidson's office.

As soon as he entered, Sam saw that Dean had peeled back the ornate Chinese rug on the floor and begun sketching out a devil's trap. Sam scattered the juniper berries as Crowley had advised. Dean handed the chalk to Sam to finish the trap and surveyed the room, laying salt at all the exits except the one they expected Asmodeus to come through. No way was he smoking out of here at the last minute.

"I don't like doing this without Cas," Sam said.

"Aww, poor Sammy misses his boyfriend," Crowley mocked.

"Shut up," Sam hissed.

"Yeah, Crowley, shut your pie hole," Dean added.

"Touchy," Crowley grumbled.

Sam's phone vibrated and he pulled it out to see a text from Cas telling him the demon had arrived.

"He's here," Sam said.

Crowley made a complicated gesture over each of their heads. "This will keep Ash from seeing, hearing or otherwise detecting you. But you have to keep still or the glamor will break."

He sprawled into one of the large leather chairs and summoned up a glass of brandy. The man who entered the room was tall, with tightly cropped blond hair and faded blue eyes behind wire-framed glasses. He was slender and moved with an elegant grace. His face pinched when he saw Crowley.

"I was beginning to think you weren't coming," he said in a slightly nasal voice.

"I'm hardly the type to stand around in the street," Crowley said.

"Indeed. Is that angel out there some kind of pet?"

"Something like that," Crowley deflected. Sam resisted the urge to growl.

"Well, what do you want? Just because you're the King of Hell doesn't mean you get to boss me around."

"Ash, please. I'm not here to rain on your parade. But you are supposed to keep your hobbies on the downlow. This business with the woman who got shot on the freeway is attracting all the wrong kinds of attention." Crowley waved his glass and brandy sloshed out and onto the floor. Asmodeus's nostrils flared in irritation.

"She brought it on herself," he snapped. "We were so close, Crowley. I was sure this time it was going to work."

"The half-demon breeding experiments," Crowley said icily. "Those were banned for a reason."

"Lucifer's too prissy," Asmodeus said, waving a hand dismissively. "You can't make an omelet without breaking a few humans."

"I doubt he cares about the humans," Crowley corrected. "It's the half-demons themselves who are the problem."

"You too? You disappoint me, Crowley. I thought you at least would see the art in my work." Asmodeus sauntered across the room, right across the devil's trap Sam had laid under the rug and then froze.

"Crowley, what is this?" he demanded, struggling against the hold of the trap.

"Like I say, you've attracted the wrong sort of attention. Boys?" Sam and Dean started to move and Asmodeus's eyes widened as the glamor fell away.

"Hunters? Have you lost your mind?" Asmodeus snarled, his face contorted with rage.

Crowley shrugged. "No. But the truly mad never do know they're insane, do they?" He grinned broadly at Asmodeus. "I've been content to leave you and the other Princes alone. You're not interested in ruling Hell, and everyone was happy. Why did you have to go and screw that up?"

Asmodeus's eyes narrowed. "Lucifer needs a new vessel. One who will be more malleable than Sam Winchester. A half-demon would have suited his purposes perfectly."

"Lucifer's in the Cage," Crowley snorted.

"He is for now. Not for very much longer."

Sam went white and Dean grabbed his arm. "Don't panic, Sammy."

"I'm bored now," Crowley announced. "Dean, sweetie, if you would."

Dean gave Sam one more concerned look and then opened a bottle of holy water and threw it at Asmodeus, whose skin smoked and hissed. Sam cleared his throat and began to read the incantation aloud, banishing Asmodeus to the lowest circle of Hell. But Asmodeus was not a Prince of Hell for nothing. Even within the devil's trap, he was able to project his power enough to throw several items at Sam's head and whip up a gale that meant Sam had to scream to be heard over it. The holy water Dean was holding boiled in his hand, causing him to drop the bottle with a curse. Crowley watched the ensuing chaos calmly, in a curious little bubble unaffected by Asmodeus's power.

By the time Sam had reached the end of the incantation, his voice was hoarse and he'd been driven to his knees by the wailing wind and incessant flurry of flying objects. But as he uttered the last syllables, the wind suddenly dropped and Asmodeus cried out in fury before falling silent. His meatsuit collapsed to the ground like a deflated balloon. For a few moments all Sam could hear was the harshness of his own breathing.

Crowley made a gesture that made the windows rattle and the front door flew open as Cas burst into the room, panting and wild-eyed. He sought out Sam and then threw himself across the office and hugged Sam tightly, burying his face into Sam's neck.

"Castiel," Crowley said expansively. "So good of you to join us."

"Hey," Sam said gently. "Hey, we're OK."

Cas lifted his head. "I was worried," he rumbled. "A giant sinkhole opened up outside and the car nearly fell in."

"What!" Dean shrieked and ran outside to his Baby.

Sam smoothed back Cas's hair. "Asmodeus was tough but the ritual Crowley gave us worked." He turned to look at the demon king who was smirking at them. "How long will it take Asmodeus to climb out of there?"

"It depends," Crowley admitted. "Without help, centuries. But I can't promise he won't get help. Worst case scenario, six months?"

"Six months!" Sam exclaimed. "That's not very long."

"Unless Lucifer is going to intervene personally, I wouldn't worry," Crowley advised. "It'll be years, honestly." He stood up and sauntered towards the door. "I'll be seeing you," he said and vanished.

Sam knelt down to check the pulse of the man once known as Andrew Davidson. The skin was cold, as though he'd been dead a long time and his body was strangely emaciated.

"He's dead," Sam said in surprise.

"Hosting a Prince of Hell is not something most humans could survive," Cas told him. "Mr Davidson signed his own death warrant."

"I've never seen anyone look like this after a possession," Sam observed. "It's almost like he starved to death."

"In a sense, he did," Cas replied. "Asmodeus would have burned through this man's natural resources very quickly. As soon as he was possessed, his metabolism would have spiked to the point that it would have been impossible to consume enough calories to keep up. Eventually, the body dies and the demon keeps it animated but as soon as it leaves..." He spread his hands to illustrate his point.

Sam shook his head in wonder. "Did Davidson even know what he was signing up for?"

"Probably not," the angel said. "Asmodeus would have promised him anything he wanted, all lies of course, but I wonder what it was Davidson did to attract his attention."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked. "Didn't we establish that he summoned the Prince himself?"

"Yes, but how often do you imagine they answer?" Cas responded. "Asmodeus chose to answer the summons. The question is why."

Sam didn't have an answer for that. "Let's get out of here."

Outside, Dean was leaning against the trunk of the Impala, eyeing the sinkhole Cas had described. The angel hadn't been exaggerating, the hole that had opened up could have swallowed a tractor-trailer, but luckily the car hadn't been close enough to be in any danger. Although Sam didn't remember them parking so far away.

"Cas," Sam said reprovingly. "That hole is nowhere near the car."

"It's isn't now," Cas said laconically. Sam raised an eyebrow at him. "I thought Dean would appreciate me moving the car back."

"He hates it when other people drive his car," Sam warned.

"Who said I drove it?" Cas replied, canting his head at Sam in a way that made all the blood rush away from his head and into his groin.

He swallowed hard. It was so easy to forget that Cas wasn't exactly human. "You… picked it up? Or at least, dragged it out of the way."

"Yes."

"Fuck, that's hot," Sam breathed, his clothes suddenly uncomfortably tight.

Cas looked at him with a puzzled expression. "It is?"

"Trust me," Sam assured him.

"All right, Baby's OK, the demon's gone. Now we just gotta figure out this ghost," Dean said as he ambled over. He peered at Sam. "Are you OK?"

"Yes," Sam croaked, flushing. "What's the plan?"

"I'm gonna tinker with one of the EMF meters, see if I can filter out some of the background. Maybe we can get a fix on whatever Wayne Jeffries is attached to," Dean said.

"OK," Sam replied. "That actually sounds like a plan. I'm gonna hit up a few forums, see if anyone else has encountered a ghost like this before. Let's be sure we know what we're dealing with before we go in guns blazing."

"You take all the fun out of life."

* * *

Dean was so intent on adjusting the EMF meter, he didn't notice Crowley's appearance in his room. Crowley watched him, the careful precision of his hands and the way the tip of his tongue appeared between his lips as he concentrated. It was cute, and it made Crowley feel all kinds of things that any demon, let alone the King of Hell, had absolutely no business feeling.

"Do you think that's going to work?" he asked, and Dean almost hit the ceiling when he jumped.

"Dammit Crowley, why'd you have to sneak up on me like that?"

"Because it's funny," Crowley said, snickering.

"What are you doing here anyway? I didn't think you were coming back." Dean put down the tiny screwdriver and picked up the soldering iron. He wasn't looking at Crowley and it was beginning to irritate the demon king.

"Well, I wasn't," Crowley admitted. "Popped down to Hell to see what roadblocks I could place in Ash's way. And, I was curious. Ash hasn't bothered much with humanity in centuries and he could give a flying fig for the machinations of Heaven or Hell. So why did he resurface?"

"Did you get any answers out of him?" Dean asked, looking up with interest. He slipped the soldering iron back into it's holster and blew on the circuit board to cool it.

"Yes and no," Crowley said, scratching at his beard. "Ash claims that he was not working at Lucifer's command. That the creation of a half-demon vessel was entirely his own idea."

"You think he's lying?" Dean asked. He picked up the screwdriver again and started putting the EMF meter case back together.

"That's a given," Crowley told him. "No, what's odd isn't that he lied, it's how he lied."

"I don't know what that means," Dean said grumpily. "Can you just drop the cryptic bullshit and get to the point?"

"I told you before that creating half-demon hybrids was an unmitigated disaster," Crowley said, idly drifting around the room and inspecting Sam's books, Dean's collection of weapons on the bed and anything else that was lying around. "There's no way Lucifer would want a half-demon as a vessel, the idea's mental. But I think the important thing isn't whether or not he's working at Lucifer's direction, rather it's the true purpose of the half-demon that I'm wondering about."

"Why else would Lucifer want one of these things?" Dean prompted. He turned on the EMF meter and it whined softly at him. He rotated it towards Crowley and it screamed. He switched it off.

"That's the part I can't figure out," Crowley said. "Will you stop playing with that thing?"

"You came and interrupted my work," Dean reminded him. He leaned back in his chair, his face thoughtful. "We really need Sam's input on this. He probably understands Lucifer better than anyone."

Crowley's lip curled. "And there's the ley-lines," he said unhappily. "We still don't know exactly why Ash was charging them."

"Sam and Cas will be back soon," Dean said.

"Where are the lovebirds anyway?" Crowley asked, a sly smile creeping across his face.

"There's a retired hunter who lives about a half-hour away, Sam found her on Reddit. Says she met a Native American ghost once who could fire real arrows. Sam thought it was worth following up."

A slow, wicked smile spread across Crowley's face. "So, you're here alone, and with some time to kill."

"No, Crowley," Dean said firmly.

"You don't even know what I was going to suggest."

Dean raised an eyebrow at him. "Would I lose my money if I bet on sex?"

"Yes," the demon said loftily. "I want to show you something."

"OK," Dean agreed. "As long as it isn't a body part."

Crowley closed his eyes and held his arms out on either side of his body, the palms of his hands upturned. He muttered something in a language Dean didn't recognize and a pulsing green light appeared above his head.

"You're demonstrating your usefulness as a flashlight?" Dean snarked.

Crowley's eyes snapped open, glowing red with his power. "Not exactly, darling. What color is the light?"

"Can't you just look up and see it yourself?" Dean asked. But the demon was sweating and his teeth were gritted. What was he up to?

"No," Crowley rasped.

"It's green," Dean told him.

"Green," the demon said in a flat voice. "Is that the best you can do? What kind of green?"

"I don't know," Dean snapped. "Light green. Kinda yellowish. It's not a nice color."

Crowley blew out a breath and the light vanished. He let his arms drop and staggered. Dean couldn't help himself, he jumped to catch the demon before he fell. Crowley collapsed into his arms, his eyes closing.

"Crowley? What the Hell, man?"

"Tired," the King of Hell whispered.

Dean managed to wrestle the almost dead weight of Crowley's body onto the bed. "Someone's been eating their Wheaties," he gasped. "You're heavy."

"Sorry," Crowley said softly. His eyes flickered open for a moment and he reached up with one hand to gently touch Dean's cheek. "I miss you."

Dean jerked away from his touch, and stood up. "I know. But I told you, we can't do this anymore. Why do you have to keep pushing?"

"I love you."

Dean snorted with derision. "You're a demon. You don't love anyone. You can't. If you could, you wouldn't be a demon anymore."

"Not true," Crowley said, sounding as if he was struggling to breathe. "Not that simple."

"Whatever," Dean said. He pulled out his phone to check the time. Where the Hell were Sam and Cas?"

"Dean, promise me…" Dean turned towards him, his brow furrowed. "Promise me you won't…" Whatever it was Crowley wanted Dean to promise not to do was never revealed as he disappeared. Dean stared at the indentation on the bed where the demon king had been. What had that been all about?


	10. Chapter 10

Sam knocked on the door of a shabby double-wide trailer that was so festooned with sigils, charms, runes, and mandalas it was hard to find the door. After a few moments, a gray-haired woman in a sagging pink house-dress opened the door and looked him up and down suspiciously. 

“Who are you?” She had a slight lisp and yellow sputum flew from her mouth as she spoke. Sam tried not to shudder with revulsion.

“Sam Winchester. Are you Meringala? We spoke on the forum.”

“Huh,” she said noncommittally. Her eyes darted over to Cas and her lip curled. “And yer friend?”

“This is Cas.” On cue, Cas held up a hand to say hello, giving her his most charming smile. It landed with a thud.

“He’s not human,” she spat. “He stays outside.”

Sam exchanged a look with the angel, who shrugged. “OK,” he said. “I wanted to ask you about the ghost you met. The Native American who could shoot real arrows.”

“Come on in,” she said, shuffling inside. “Call me Merry. Coffee?”

“Uh, no, thanks,” Sam said. The trailer was filthy, with piles of dirty dishes overflowing the sink and damp clothes on a line extending across the back. It smelled of sweat and neglect.

“Shawnee,” Merry snorted. 

“I’m sorry?”

“The ghost. Twas Shawnee. Nasty thing, completely consumed with rage. No sense of self left, just blind hate and anger. Sad, really.” She opened a small tin and plucked out a pinch of chewing tobacco before offering it to Sam. He waved it off. “So whaddya wanna know?”

“We’re trying to find a ghost of a sniper,” Sam explained. “He shot a woman on the freeway.”

“Oh, yeah, I heard about that,” she said. “Assumed it was a real live person.” She eyed him closely. “Ghost, you think?”

“There’s a lot of EMF activity on the bridge he shot from. And there’s CCTV showing him just melting away, rifle and all.” Sam didn’t want to mention the demon Prince Asmodeus. Merry seemed easily spooked and he needed to know what she knew.

“Yeah? Well, boy, what ya gotta understand is, ghosts like that have to be drawing power from somewhere. Their own energy ain’t enough.” She chewed contemplatively. “When I used to hunt, I used to carry dowsing rods for tracking ley lines. You might wanna give that a try. If a ghost is manifested on a ley line nexus, it could be getting the extra power it needs from there.”

“We found some evidence that somebody might be charging the lines at the victim’s house,” Sam told her. The effect on Merry was startling. She drew her lips back over her teeth in a hiss and scuttled away from Sam, her movements quick and jerky.

“Someone did this on purpose?” she snarled.

“I think so,” Sam said. 

“Hoo, we are in a world of trouble then,” she said. “Whaddya know about ley lines anyway?”

“Not much,” Sam admitted. “Lines of spiritual energy linking significant locations all over the globe. The crossing points of the lines, known as a nexus, can be used to draw power from the lines, or charge power into the lines.”

“Not bad,” she said, looking impressed. “Most hunters don’t bother themselves enough with lore these days. Lemme fill in some gaps. The lines ain’t fixed. Those maps you can buy, all fancy-like with their radiating spokes? Horseshit. Ley lines are more like--” she waved her hands as she struggled for an analogy. “Probability clouds.” Sam blinked as he processed that. Merry was either smarter than her folksy demeanor implied or she was a snake-oil salesman of the first water. “It’s like quantum, see. Nobody knows where a ley line actually is, just where it’s most likely to be. And they move around. You can deflect ‘em if you know what you’re doing.”

Sam felt like he was getting in over his head. He was no slouch in academics and had always been better at the research and lore parts of the hunting job than Dean. But this was getting a little esoteric and way off course.

“OK,” he said, hoping to direct the conversation back to where it had originated. “So this sniper ghost…”

“Might not have its artifact here in town. A ghost that’s motivated enough and has drawn enough energy from the ley lines can travel those lines, leaving its fetish behind.”

Sam choked. “Fetish?”

“The object it’s attached to, boy!” Merry shook her head and muttered under her breath. 

Sam relaxed, thankful he’d misunderstood. “So what you're saying is the rules about how far a ghost can travel when it’s on one of these charged ley lines might not apply.”

“Exactly,” she said, nodding in satisfaction. “Do you know who the ghost was?”

“Yes,” Sam said. “He died only a few days before the woman he shot.”

“Hmm. Was it a weird death?” She shambled over to the coffee maker and poured out thick, black coffee into a mug, before adding heart-stopping amounts of sugar from a heavy glass container.

“Very,” Sam told her. “His heart vanished.”

Her eyes widened. “Ammit.”

“What’s that?” 

“Not a what, a who. Egyptian demon who devours hearts. She renders final judgement on a man’s life.” She sniffed and swallowed a large mouthful of coffee. “Somebody musta summoned her. No wonder your sniper became a vengeful spirit.”

“Why would anyone do that?” Sam wondered.

“Beats me, kiddo,” Merry said. “There are easier ways to determine guilt.” At Sam’s expression, she gave him a toothy smile. “Your sniper did something in life, something bad and somebody else wanted to know what it was. That’s the only reason you’d summon Ammit. But like I say, there are easier ways. Safer ways.” 

“Safer?” Sam asked nervously. 

“Stuffing Ammit back in her box ain’t easy.” She put her mug down and began to move towards the door. Sam took it as his cue to leave.

“Thanks for your help,” he said. “You really know a lot.”

“Been around a long time, Sammy,” she said and he stared at her. “What?”

“N-nothing,” he stammered. “Uh, thanks again!” He stumbled out of the trailer to see Cas waiting for him.

“Did you get anything useful?” the angel asked.

“Yeah, I think so,” Sam said. 

“You look… disturbed.”

“Yeah, it’s--” Sam looked over his shoulder at the trailer. “She was strange.”

“Gorgons often are,” Cas agreed.

“What!”

“She was a Gorgon,” Cas said patiently. 

“But… I didn’t turn to stone,” Sam objected. 

“She can control that power,” Cas told him. “Most Gorgons aren’t interested in hurting humans. I’ve met Meringala before, though I doubt she remembers. She’s… well, she’s not harmless, but she’s not usually a threat.”

“So why is she helping us?” Sam asked.

“I expect she wants something,” Cas said. “What did she ask for?”

“Nothing,” Sam said, puzzled. “We didn’t discuss payment or anything.”

“Did she touch you?”

“No,” Sam said. “And I didn’t accept anything from her, not even coffee.” He frowned. “But she called me Sammy, right at the end. Only Dean ever called me Sammy. And--” he broke off, swallowing past a sudden lump in his throat. “And Lucifer used to call me that sometimes.”

“Curious,” Cas said. 

* * *

Sam opened the motel room door to see Dean staring at his bed, his face blank. There was an outline where someone had clearly laid down, and a strange electric feeling in the air.

“Uh, hey, Dean,” Sam said cautiously, the atmosphere in the room scraping at his nerves. Had something happened while they were out?

His brother looked up, his face lined with concern. “Sam! Where have you been?” There were dark shadows under his eyes and his face was pale. He looked awful, and it had to be something that had recently happened since he’d been fine that morning.

“Talking to that hunter on Reddit,” Sam said slowly. Had Dean forgotten?

“You’ve been gone hours,” Dean complained. “I had to put up with Crowley breathing down my neck.” He swallowed and beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. 

“Crowley?” Sam said in surprise. He thought Crowley had made it clear he was finished with the case now Asmodeus had been dealt with. “What did he want?”

 

"I don’t know,” Dean said. “He did this weird thing and made a big ball of green light appear and then he kinda… faded away.”

Cas’s mouth dropped open in a rare expression of total shock. “What kind of green?” he demanded.

“You too?” Dean said plaintively. “Crowley asked me that. It was a light, yellowish green. What difference does it make?”

“Chartreuse?” Sam suggested. 

Dean threw up his hands and made an exasperated face. “ _ I _ don’t know.” He began to pace, and tension radiated off him in waves. Sam was baffled. Crowley’s behavior was strange, and the demon king’s flirtatious manner had been throwing Dean off his game ever since they started working on this case. But this was whole orders of magnitude different. Dean seemed really upset and it had to be something Crowley had done or said, something Dean was leaving out of his account.

Sam pulled up a Pantone chart on his phone and held it out to his brother, pointing to one of the swatches. “This color here.”

“Yeah, that’s it,” Dean agreed, rolling his eyes as if he thought the whole thing ridiculous.

“How did he make the ball of light appear,” Cas pressed. His eyes were intent and Sam had the sense the angel knew what more about what was going on than either him or Dean.

“He held his arms out and said something in a foreign language,” Dean said, spreading his arms to demonstrate. 

“Infernal?” Cas suggested. “It sounds sort of guttural.”

“I don’t know,” Dean said. He bit his lip. “Maybe.”

“What is it?” Sam said, laying a hand on Cas’s arm. Cas’s face was an odd combination of concerned and confused.

“Crowley’s in trouble,” Cas explained. “That ‘ball of light’ is a manifestation of his power as King of Hell. It should be red.”

“What does it mean that it wasn’t?” Dean asked, a sliver of worry entering his voice. Sam gave him a curious glance.

“I’m not certain,” Cas admitted. “But my best guess is that his power is fading. It’s analogous to an angel falling.”

“Really?” Sam said, the concept seeming fascinating in the abstract but the arrested look on Dean’s face giving him pause. “What would cause that?”

“I have no idea.”

* * *

Sam pawed through the box of Wayne Jeffries belongings and sighed. “There’s nothing else here, just some papers and his social security card.”

“There has to be,” Dean asserted drunkenly. Sam squinted at him, wishing his brother would find another way to deal with his emotions than whiskey and anger. He’d been surly and uncommunicative all afternoon, drinking steadily and doing little to help. Cas held his hand out and Sam shrugged and gave him the social security card.

“No,” the angel rumbled as he turned the card over in his hands, his brows diving together as he concentrated. “Nothing.”

Dean made a rude noise and Sam’s temper flared. “Look, Dean, I know you hate it when I pry, but what the Hell is your problem?” he snapped.

“He’s worried about Crowley,” Cas said gently, placing a restraining hand on Sam’s arm. Sam could feel the warmth of the angel through his sleeve and he let it soothe him. Getting angry at Dean would only lead to a fight and wouldn’t leave him any further forward as to what was actually wrong.

“I am not,” Dean said indignantly. But his face told a different story. Sam wanted to push harder, make Dean spill exactly what was going on in his head, but with so much booze in his system, he’d be more likely to get a fist in the face than a heartfelt confession.

Cas raised one eyebrow at Dean as if to tell him he thought he was full of shit. Sam had to suppress a bark of laughter since that would definitely lead to violence. Cas returned his attention to Sam, his eyes shadowed with doubt. “Perhaps we should drive down to Tennessee, look at Wayne Jeffries home.”

“It’s gotta be better than cooling our heels here,” Sam agreed. “Dean?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he said, struggling to his feet. He scowled as Sam snagged the car keys off the table. “Y’not drivin’, Sam.”

“I am,” Sam insisted. “You’re absolutely dead drunk.” That wasn’t even the half of it. Sam couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Dean this intoxicated. His tolerance was so high, it took a serious amount of liquor to put him in this state and Sam began to wonder if the bottle of whiskey Dean had polished off had even been the only bottle. 

“M’not,” Dean slurred, swaying slightly. “Bit tipsy, ‘sall.” He grinned in triumph as he managed to stay standing. Sam glared at him, making it clear that this should not be regarded as a victory.

“I can sober him up,” Cas offered, extending one hand. Dean backed away, his face set.

“Your choice, Dean,” Sam said firmly. He folded his arms over his chest and planted his feet, ready for a fight if it came to it. “Either let Cas drain the booze from your system or I’m driving.”

“Fine,” Dean said, staggering to the door and waving one hand dismissively. “Imma sleep in th’back.”

Sam exchanged a look with Cas, whose eyes reflected his own concern. “What’s going on with him?”

“I don’t know,” Cas said. “But I stand by what I said. He’s worried about Crowley. If he really is meliorating, there may not be much we can do. He won’t survive long in Hell, that’s for sure.”

“Meliorating?” Sam picked up on the word Cas had used. It was an archaism, but that was Cas for you. “You really do mean it’s analogous to falling, don’t you?”

“Yes,” the angel said. “It’s incredibly rare, especially in higher status demons. Melioration occurs when the demon begins to experience the more blessed human emotional states. Altruism, self-sacrifice, grace, love.”

“Love,” Sam said, speculating wildly now. “Could he be in love with Dean?”

Cas looked startled at the prospect. “Anything’s possible, but on its own, I don’t think it would be enough. But if he’s both in love and willing to be unselfish about it, then melioration is almost inevitable.”

“Fuck,” Sam said with feeling. “If that’s what’s going on, no wonder Dean’s freaking out.”

* * *

Dean snored in the backseat as the Impala ate up the miles. Sam cast a sideways glance at Cas, who had rested his left hand on Sam’s thigh. It felt nice, that small bit of contact and it made Sam smile. 

“Do you really think we’ll find anything in Jeffries home?” he asked. 

“I have a theory I’d like to talk through with you,” Cas explained.

“Oh?” Sam said in surprise. “Shoot.”

“I was thinking about what Meringala said to you,” Cas mused. “What if Jeffries never attached to an object that traveled to Arkansas. What if the object he is attached to is still in his home? If his home was on a major ley line and he traveled along it to intersect with Heather, that could explain everything.”

“Not quite everything,” Sam said. “But yeah, that would explain a lot.” He contemplated the fields as they whizzed by, thinking hard. “Merry said that ley lines weren’t fixed the way people think, that they were, uh, probability clouds. I think she made some quantum mechanics reference but it was a bit beyond me, to be honest.”

“Merry?” Cas said, sounding startled. “She asked you to call her that?”

Derailed, Sam flicked a quick look at his angel before returning his gaze to the road. “Yeah. Is that a problem?”

“No,” Cas said wonderingly. “It’s just unusual. She’s not a people person, as you would say. Calling her Merry seems… intimate. Like you were good friends. It’s strange.”

“It’s just my natural charm,” Sam joked. Cas grinned at that. 

“She is correct, of course. Ley lines are strange things that even angels don’t fully understand,” Cas said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Gorgons have a strong attraction to them, which is probably why she’s in Rogers. But that uncertainty could be the final piece of our puzzle. The nexus under Ridley’s home probably moves around and when Jeffries traveled along it, he couldn’t control where he ended up. It’s probably not a coincidence he ended up on that bridge, but someone very carefully shaped things to ensure it was a high probability.”

“Asmodeus?” Sam asked.

“Unlikely,” Cas said, frowning. “Heather’s death not only destroyed his plans for creating a half-demon vessel for Lucifer, it also drew unwanted attention to him and his machinations. No, I suspect this was someone else. Possibly someone opposed to what he was doing.”

“Could this be Crowley?” Sam asked. “Dean did wonder if he was trying to draw us into something bigger.”

“Not that I doubt Crowley’s ability to be so duplicitous,” Cas said with a wry twist to his mouth as he glanced over his shoulder at Dean. “But he’s not stupid enough to mess with Ammit. I agree with Meringala’s assessment that Ammit is the cause of Jeffries’ death. Now we just have to figure out who is, and why they went to such lengths.”


	11. Chapter 11

Jeffries home was a modest single-story brick house in southern Memphis, not far from the airport. It was in much poorer condition than the other houses on the street, the porch roof was sagging and the small lawn was badly overgrown. A short concrete driveway had large weeds poking up at the edges. Dirty curtains of uncertain color covered the windows. A faded realtor’s sign was placed out front. 

Dean woke up when Sam turned off the engine and blinked owlishly. “Where are we?” He sounded sober, thankfully.

“Memphis,” Sam said shortly. “Where Wayne Jeffries lived.” He indicated the shabby house with one hand. 

“Looks like a dump,” Dean commented. “The neighbors must have been thrilled when he died.”

“And it gives the lie to the story about him dying mowing his lawn,” Sam said with a grin. “Look at it. That grass hasn’t been mowed in months.” He opened the door and climbed out of the car, walking up the driveway to the house. The skin on the back of his neck prickled with the sensation he was being watched. Since the local residents were probably desperate for someone to buy this house and fix it up, that wasn’t too surprising.

What was surprising was the lack of a keybox on the door. “Damn,” Sam swore. He’d been hoping to try out his new hack on those things. “I guess we have to do this the old-fashioned way.”

“Not with this audience,” Dean said sourly. He subtly nodded his head at the woman across the street who had come out of her house and was standing there, openly watching them. 

“Or we could call the realtor,” Sam suggested. “Make an appointment to see the house.” It wasn’t a serious suggestion but Dean made a considering face. 

“That’s not the worst idea you’ve ever had,” he said.

“Thanks,” Sam said dryly. 

“No charge,” Dean grinned.

* * *

 Caroline Cooper was a tall woman in her late fifties with the kind of immaculately styled salon-blonde hair that had been teased and hairsprayed into a shape more like a helmet than a hairstyle. Sam was privately convinced it could ward off bullets. She shook both their hands and gave them a brittle smile when she realized Cas was also part of the group.

“I was told there would be two of you,” she said, her eyes flicking nervously between the three of them.

“Oh, don’t mind him,” Dean said easily. “He’s just along for the ride.”

“Cas, do you mind waiting in the car?” Sam said, giving his brother a glare. Of course the woman was unnerved by the prospect of being alone in a house with three men. The angel frowned but nodded and ambled off towards the Impala. Ms. Cooper visibly relaxed a little.

“What made you interested in this property?” she asked as she struggled with the lock on the front door. Finally, it opened with a screeching sound that made Sam wince, and she huffed out a breath from the effort.

“We flip houses,” Sam said. “Pick up run-down properties like this, renovate and then sell them on. This house is exactly the kind of thing we like.” He’d seen Flip This House a time or two, so he figured he knew enough to not seem too suspicious.

“Well, it’s not for me to tell you your business,” Cooper said. “But I think I probably have better property options for you than this one.”

“Don’t you want to get it off your hands?” Sam said in surprise. “I can see from the listing date it’s been on the market a long time.”

Cooper turned to him and her face was drawn. “Bad things happened in this house. The city should buy it and demolish it.”

Sam exchanged a look with Dean. “Bad things? We didn’t hear anything about that. Just that the old guy who lived here passed away. We’re not too worried about that, we buy houses that belonged to dead people all the time.”

“You didn’t know?” Cooper said, more to herself than to Sam. “In the interests of full disclosure, I should tell you then.” She didn’t look happy about this and Sam’s instincts flared.

“The owner passed away, that’s true. Heart attack, or so I heard. Unfortunately, he died inside the house and wasn’t found for a few days. Summers are hot and humid here in Memphis, and that means the remains were in a state of advanced decay by the time he was found. The house was absolutely filled with flies and other bugs.” She shivered in remembrance. “But with old guys living alone, it happens. I’ve seen it before.”

“So what’s the problem?” Sam pressed.

She sighed and folded her arms defensively across her chest. “Understand that this is common practice and not illegal  _ per se.  _ The man’s only family was a daughter living out in Arkansas and she wasn’t particularly interested in the house or the contents. She listed the house with me because I told her I could find her a buyer. My neighbor does the same thing you boys do, and I figured if she was that uninterested, I could get him a good deal. We were all set, Jim offered her a really low price but considering the state of the house and her desire for a quick sale… Well, she didn’t have to accept it. 

“So we arranged for a surveyor to go in and check out the structure, make sure the place was sound, you know? We contracted David Macklemore to come take a look at it.”

Sam inhaled sharply at the familiarity of the name. “He was murdered. I remember hearing about it on the news. That was in this house?”

Cooper nodded. “He was tortured and then killed. Stabbed in the heart with a bayonet of all things, but nobody heard a thing. I sent my trainee, Deyana, over to see what was happening when he didn’t return the keys to the office. She found the body in the basement.”

“People get murdered all the time,” Dean objected. “There must be more to it than that if you heard about it on TV.”

Sam gave the realtor an apologetic look. “When the police investigated, they found human remains in the basement, going back decades. Dean, this house belonged to a serial killer. The Mississippi Sniper.” 

“The Mississippi Sniper?” Dean said, grimacing. “If he was a sniper, why were there human remains in the basement?”

“He took trophies,” Sam said with distaste. “Cut out his victims’ hearts with a bayonet.” He cast a look at Cooper. “We’d still like to take a look at the house.”

“All right,” she said. She removed the key from the lock and handed it to Sam, before gesturing them inside. “Knock yourselves out. Forgive me if I wait outside.”

Sam gave her what he hoped was an understanding smile, thrilled that they would be able to investigate without her hanging over their shoulder. “Of course.”

* * *

The house was as poorly maintained inside as it had been outside. In the hall, faded, old-fashioned wallpaper with huge cabbage roses peeled forlornly from walls that were holed in several places. Sam poked at a few with a tentative foot, wondering if they were created by rats or just decay. He shrugged and pulled out his EMF meter, which instantly screamed to life and buried the needle. Sam switched it off.

“Well, I guess that answers that question,” Dean said. He walked cautiously into the living room and Sam followed him, his senses finely tuned for any trace of supernatural activity. 

The house had apparently been cleared of furniture and even the carpets had been lifted, leaving only bare boards and a large stain near an open fireplace. Sam crouched down to examine it more closely, but although he was certain it was an old bloodstain, he couldn’t know for sure if it was Jeffries’ blood. He considered trying the EMF again but decided against it since the background here was so high. Just like on that bridge… 

Sam jumped to his feet. “Dean!”

Dean had disappeared upstairs and Sam waited impatiently for his brother to reappear. “Yeah?” he called down the stairs.

“Remember the bridge in Rogers,” Sam replied. “Where the ghost was seen. Remember the EMF meter went nuts?”

“I remember, “ Dean said, appearing at the top of the stairs and leaning against the banister.

“It’s the same here, right? Crowley said there was a convergence of ley lines, centered around Heather’s house. But Meringala told me that the locations of ley lines aren’t fixed, they move around. What if one of those ley lines connected this house with that bridge?”

“Meaning the ghost could travel along it,” Dean said, his face alight with understanding. “That’s how he got from here to be on that bridge to kill Heather.”

“We still don’t know why he killed her,” Sam pointed out.

“No, and him turning out to be some crazed psycho killer is just gravy,” Dean drawled. 

“What? You think it’s a coincidence that he killed his own daughter?” Sam said in disbelief. “Come on!”

“No,” Dean said, shaking his head. “I think someone wanted him there and set things up to make it happen. Somebody raised that Egyptian god that gorgon told you about. We already knew this was bigger than one ghost killing his own kid.”

“Right,” Sam agreed. “So who did raise Ammit? And did they send it back once Jeffries was dead? You’d think we’d have heard about it if there were any other similar deaths.” He paused, gathering his thoughts. “Did you find anything upstairs?”

“Not much,” Dean said. “Furniture’s all been cleared out. Got a newspaper clipping about Heather you’ll wanna see.” He stomped down the stairs and handed Sam a faded newspaper article about Heather’s ward at the hospital. According to the caption, she and five other nurses were photographed holding one of those oversized checks that charities sometimes used for publicity. But that wasn’t what attracted Sam’s attention. He was more concerned with the way her face had been crossed out in thick black Sharpie.

“Oh wow,” he said. “I guess Heather and her dad really didn’t get along.”

“No kidding,” Dean grunted. “Have you been down to the basement?”

“No,” Sam said. “Let’s check it out and then hit the road.”

* * *

Cas watched Caroline Cooper as she fielded a few calls and made some notes in a notebook. Her whole body seemed to vibrate with tension, like she couldn’t wait to get away from this place.

“So, if they’re brothers,” she said suddenly. “Who are you?”

“A friend,” Cas said cautiously. “I’ve known them for over ten years now.”

“And they’re good at what they do?” she asked, her eyes sharp. Cas went on alert. If she suspected Sam and Dean weren’t on the level, she could cause a lot of trouble.

“The best,” Cas assured her, trying not to look too disturbed. “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know, they look familiar,” she said. “But in another context.” She was frowning now and Cas wondered if it was possible she had met the brothers at some point in the past. But as far as he knew, they’d never done a job in Memphis before.

“Maybe they remind you of someone on TV?” he suggested. She shook her head.

“No, it’s more like they remind me of someone I used to know, long ago.”

Cas saw with relief that Sam had appeared in the doorway. “Are you done?” he called out.

“Not quite,” Sam replied. “Ms Cooper, is there a key to the basement?”

“The basement?” she repeated stupidly. “It doesn’t even have a lock.”

Sam made a face at her. “It’s got a hasp and padlock on it. Brand new by the looks of it.”

Cooper shook her head. “I know nothing about that. I can ask my assistant tomorrow if you’re really desperate to see it.”

“No, it’s OK,” Sam said. “I think we’re done here. Sorry to keep you waiting so long.”

“It’s quite all right,” she replied. The sun was beginning to set and Cas could hear her heartbeat had ticked up. She was scared, he realized, although he wasn’t sure why. Sam walked over to the car and Dean followed him out of the house, handing the key to Cooper as he passed her.

“Thanks,” he said. “I guess we’re gonna have to sleep on it.”

“No problem,” she said brightly, her voice brittle with suppressed fear. Dean narrowed his eyes at her. “You have my number!” With that, she turned on her heel and practically ran towards her car. Dean exchanged a look with Cas. 

“What the Hell was that all about?”

“I don’t know,” Cas said. “She started to get uncomfortable when the light began to fade.”

“She knows something about this house,” Sam deduced. “Something she hasn’t told us.”

“We’ll just have to come back later and investigate,” Dean said, waving a key at him. Sam laughed. 

“Which key did you give her?”

“No idea,” Dean admitted. “Just one I picked up somewhere. Figured she wouldn’t notice, at least not for a while.”

* * *

Later that night, once the street had mostly gone dark as everyone had gone to bed, they returned to Wayne Jeffries house. As soon as they entered, Sam could feel that the atmosphere inside had changed.

“Do you feel that?” he muttered to his brother.

“Oh yeah,” Dean said, shivering in the sudden chill. His breath misted in the air. 

Slow, deliberate footsteps sounded from behind the basement door, then stopped. After a moment’s silence, the doorknob began to turn. Sam exhaled suddenly, not realizing he’d been holding his breath.

“There’s no way there’s someone down there, is there?” he whispered.

“Not unless there’s another door,” Dean muttered back.

The doorknob was turning back and forth and the door began to rattle in its frame. But the padlock held firm. The rattling turned to violent banging, dust began to rain down from the floor above and for a moment Sam was sure the hinges would give way. And then everything fell silent again.

Sam dropped his duffel bag on the floor and rifled through it to locate a container of salt. He laid a thick line of it around the basement door and then stepped back. Dean lifted the bolt cutters and cut through the shackle. It dropped to the floor with a clank and Dean barely dodged out of the way when the door flew open. Stood in the doorway was the figure of Wayne Jeffries. He didn’t look like a ghost. 

“Who the Hell are you?” he demanded. “What are you doing in my home?”

“Uh, Mr. Jeffries?” Sam said. “It’s about your daughter…”

“Faugh!” Jeffries spat. “Little whore got herself into trouble, didn’t she? Well, she may be blood but so what? I could see what was going on. Consorting with demons, disgusting behavior. I had to put a stop to it.”

“Are you admitting you killed her?” Dean said incredulously. 

Jeffries smiled a horrid smile, revealing a row of blackened and broken teeth. He stepped over the salt line as it didn’t exist and Sam’s eyes widened in shock. Jeffries shoved Dean in the chest, sending him flying against the wall.

“You ain’t cops,” Jeffries said. “So who are you?”

“Hunters,” Cas said and Jeffries' head turned to face the angel, his face contorted with rage.

“Filthy abominations,” he roared and launched himself at Cas. They both went down hard, sending up plumes of dust. Jeffries had pinned Cas down and was attempting to throttle him with one hand. The angel should have been able to push him away easily but it was obvious that somehow Jeffries was powerful enough to hold him in place.

Sam tossed the remainder of the salt over Jeffries, but he might as well have thrown confetti for all the good it did. Damn it, a ghost who was immune to salt?

Dean meanwhile had grabbed a poker from Sam’s bag and swiped at Jeffries with all his strength. Instead of passing through the ghost and dissipating its energies at least temporarily, it struck Jeffries with a solid thunk. Dean gaped at it uncomprehendingly before tossing it aside and pulling out his shotgun. Cas finally managed to get enough leverage to shove Jeffries aside and sprang to his feet. Jeffries was howling like a maddened animal as Dean fired off two shots in quick succession. To Sam’s relief, the ghost’s form fragmented and tore apart like tissue paper.

“He’ll be back,” Dean predicted. Sam nodded, realizing there was only one option left open to them. They had to raze this house to the ground.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

“Gas is still on,” Dean told him. “I checked when we were here earlier. So let’s rig a little gas explosion and get the Hell out of Dodge.”

“You’re sure that’ll be enough?” Sam said dubiously.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Dad and I did it once before on a really nasty vengeful spirit up in Nebraska one time.”

“I dunno,” Sam frowned. “I don’t want any of the neighbors getting hurt.”

“Trust me,” Dean said, his teeth flashing white as he grinned. “Now, keep that son of a bitch off my back while I rig this up.” He hustled into the kitchen and started working. 

Sure enough, the shotgun blast had only stayed Jeffries for a few moments. Sam’s face exploded with pain as the ghost reformed in front of his eyes and slammed a meaty fist into his nose. Blood spurted everywhere and Cas cried out to him.

Angry and in pain, he snatched a shotgun from the bag and loosed off two shots. To his chagrin, they barely slowed the ghost down. “Shit! Dean! The shotgun’s not working!” 

“Use the silver shot,” his brother called back. 

Silver shot? Sam reached for the bag but Jeffries plowed into him, sending him sprawling backwards through the open basement door and tumbling down the stairs. “Cas!”

The angel’s eyes were wild and enraged. He grabbed Jeffries and blasted him with the full force of his Grace. Jeffries’ form appeared to distort before it exploded, ectoplasm flying out in every direction. 

“Cas?” Sam said weakly from the bottom of the basement stairs. His head hurt abominably and he couldn’t feel his legs. The angel was by his side in an instant. 

“You’re hurt,” Cas said, his voice quivering. He brushed his fingers over Sam’s forehead and his eyes shimmered.

“Hey, it’s OK,” Sam said. “You can heal me, right?”

“Sam… I…” Cas was shaking. What was going on? “Your back is hurt. Badly.”

That couldn't be right. “I don’t understand.”

“I can’t heal you,” Cas said. “Dispersing Jeffries has drained me almost completely.”

“Fine,” Sam said. “Let’s just get out of here and you can heal me up when you’re recharged.”

But Cas didn’t look convinced and Sam began to feel really worried. What wasn’t the angel telling him? Cas patted him reassuringly on the shoulder and then stood and headed upstairs.  Sam could hear muttered conversation and then a yelp from Dean. That did not sound good.  He heard the scrape of boots and tried to turn his head but pain exploded behind his eyes and he decided that he needed to keep still.

“Sam?” Dean said, his voice low and urgent. “Cas says Jeffries will be back, that we don’t have much time.”

“OK,” Sam managed, his teeth gritted against the pain.

“So, we’ve still gotta blow this place to kingdom come. Except, you can’t walk and Cas is afraid if we move you, you’ll…” Dean made a peculiar choking sound. “We can’t move you. It’s too dangerous.”

“So what are we gonna do?” Sam said. Tiredness swept over him in a wave. 

Dean gripped his hand. “We’re gonna call 911.”

They rarely called for an ambulance, no matter how bad it got. It began to dawn on Sam that things were even worse than Cas’s pronouncement had suggested. “But what about Jeffries?” he said, his voice cracking alarmingly. “You said we don’t have much time but you won’t move me.”

“Cas has a plan,” was all Dean would say. Sam had an ominous sense of apprehension. His brother stood up and pulled out his phone, moving away so that Sam couldn’t overhear him.

“Cas?” he croaked.

“I’m here, Sam,” Cas said. His voice was low and gruff with some unexpressed emotion. “I’ve got to finish this, but I swear I’ll join you at the hospital as soon as I can.”

“What are you going to do?” Sam said, trying to grab at Cas’s hand but his fingers didn’t seem to want to respond. 

“Destroy Jeffries,” Cas said simply. Sam knew it couldn’t possibly be that simple, but as another wave of pain hit him, he felt his grasp on consciousness begin to waver. “Stay with me, Sam. The ambulance will be here soon.”

But it was no use. Sam struggled to keep his eyes open but his vision began to dim and then go black.


End file.
